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Ask Mature Binding in the Library

Imperial Magi

Ruždija Mesdjian

Character
Old Empire Citizen
Job
Maji
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Male
Age
26
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Wailing, a woman's voice sang softly in the distant reaches of the castle library. Echos; it was as though a melancholy phantasm haunted a past realm there, a few simple notes lulling with woe. Curiously, she was not quite there. And yet she could be heard, somewhere through the walls. Behind a few tipped books upon the shelf, she seemed to serenade from within the very pages themselves. But no, not there. Then, elsewhere, her attractive misery warmed the walls in candlelight. The siren played tricks on a curious mind, bending the dull shadows of late daylight.

There she rested. Not a woman, but an enchanted singing stone. The small gem, a green aventurine, sat upon a simple black rod bent in an oval stand shape not larger than a bracelet. Enchanted stones were one of his specialties, and pastimes. They helped him relax, or sometimes concentrate. But at the moment, he couldn't help hear it differently; it was as though he was attuning it to a mood.

Ruždija leaned, hunched over on wide spread arms, palms planted onto the dark wood table. He gave his back to the entrance as he studied the pages of Myst and Mysteries, a directory index pushed open beside it with multiple loose pages and scrolls scattered over a few other opened books. Weak sunlight on its last legs peered through the distant window, shining a spotlight on the bag near his feet overflowing with books. Several candles had been set by tin saucers upon windowsills and shelves, awaiting a spark of flame. Some dribbled fresh wax from recent striking and burned youthfully. He merely wore a long draping tan robe, drawn about the waist, yet beset by the same battle stained pants and grimy boots. His hair was disheveled, scratched at by nervous nails. And his broad back breathed, agitated in torment.

Cursing his imperfect memory, cursing his ill-preparedness, cursing his distraction and slow stream of results, he growled at the pages that failed to speak to him beneath his mount. Inadequacy harrowed in his isolation. And he buckled beneath the pressure.

Charlie Silverwater
 
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The sun was slowly fading, the sky fighting to keep its light. Charlie followed the scent, his scent. She knew they were supposed to be working together on finding what they could on binding magic, but she just wanted to be near him. It was a gravitational pull she didn't even try to fight. She made her way through the castle, a lithe black cat, totally unnoticed. Yellow lantern eyes monitored the shadows as she prowled the hallways. She could hear the mice in the walls, scrambling to avoid her.

She was getting closer, his scent getting stronger. Suddenly she was there, the entrance just in front of her. Charlie hesitated, almost changing her mind to approach. She swished her tail in frustration, finally forcing herself to continue on. She shifted in the doorway with a quiet whoosh. There he was. She had a sudden temptation to bury her face against his strong back, but shook her head to clear the thought.

She approached him quietly, not wanting to interrupt his intense concentration. She stopped a few feet short of him, and spoke, a quiet rasp in the vast room. "Ruždija." She meant to simply let him know she was there, but she couldn't help the concern that crept into her tone. She bit her lip, waiting for him to turn to address her, guilt gnawing at her for not being her sooner to help him with the research.
 
Imperial Magi

Ruždija Mesdjian

Character
Old Empire Citizen
Job
Maji
Gender
Male
Age
26
Marital Status
Single
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Styx
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Her voice infused his lungs with life, an intake of breathe lifting his neck. His red eyelids fluttered. He turned.

His expression was pained, his stare on the verge of breaking. But he looked at her, undressing her appearance for what she felt below. Her lips were kissed with distress, her eyes begged to be received. To utter her name was to curse the gods, the very mention of which put theirs to shame for all their lacking and inability to measure up to her. He nearly gave in to her, tasting the sound of her on his lips. His hand could almost reach her neck, pulling her in for embrace. But he choked.

He looked to the floor, at the book bag, disappointed in himself.

"I'm sorry I didn't send for you earlier. I had hoped to spare you some reprieve from all this. If I could grant you even an hour of rest, I thought it kind. But now I see I'm hopeless without you."

He began to turn his back to her, ashamed and unaccomplished. His left-hand fingertips sought to impale the pages and slash at them, swiping them from the table and flinging them scattered about the air.

"This library is a farce. I knew I should have come more prepared!"

The pressure was mounting. He yearned for release from this oath, but would never release his grip. He desired to give the Empire her peace.

Charlie Silverwater
 
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He turned, and her breath caught. She could see the look in his eyes as they met hers, and she wondered why they were both incapable of expressing what they truly wanted to. There was a tension building, and she knew it was prone to explode. He shifted his gaze away, and his face soured. His words made her shake her head in disagreement. "I should have been here long before, I suffered an injury, but I still have a duty to perform. I should have been here with you."

He turned from her, his frustration evident as he flung the materials off of the table, and onto the floor. Charlie flinched, her reaction pure concern for Ruždija. His back was still to her, his vocal frustration come to light, and she could no longer stand to see it. She slipped herself between him and the table, staring up at him in determination. She placed a cool hand on his cheek, and tried to express her resolve with a look.

"We will figure this out, together. You are not alone." She turned to start picking up the loose materials that had scattered. She would not let him take this burden alone. Even if they failed, he would not be the only one to suffer the blame. She would be sure of that.
 
Imperial Magi

Ruždija Mesdjian

Character
Old Empire Citizen
Job
Maji
Gender
Male
Age
26
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Single
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Styx
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His eyes caught hers, then crumbled to their capability. Her hand turned those sore eyes into the back of his skull, struggling to close in ecstasy. They reemerged, heavy and hanging low, hiding somewhere near her naval. But he couldn't hide, no matter how low he shrank. She was there.

Flash: Her naked skin beneath nightgown, frantic and fluttering in white night window-curtain breeze.

His scarred lips pouted. He felt an instinct to fight this. Yes, he decided once more that this would remain platonic and professional. He pouted at the pull within. It was so strong, but he couldn't understand the reason. Need there be one, he might allow himself consider. Yes, he decided again that there must be reason to weigh against reason that one might outweigh the other. Care not for the one, but for the many. This he told himself in days most dire. Thoughts never before lingered on beings alone, but nature and her gifts for the Empire. But this was no time to reflect upon nature. Her natural form was indeed beautiful, but no! Lust rules not these perilous tides. Navigate these storms and stay focused on the task. This was the role delegated to him. This sealing spell must be pinpointed and perfected. Damn these feelings and dash them to the depths. There is no her nor him. There is only the work.

A lock of hair fell over the bridge of his nose, over his right eye.

His hand caught her arm. Smack. It held there in silence, neither allowing her escape nor purchasing her possession. Those eyes bore a fevered desire into her. Don't, they said. Stay, they said. There isn't a thing you could do that I haven't already given you credit for, said the story they told in a single stare. The thought of you turning from me banishes my soul to an eternity of drought amidst a barren woodland.

Wait.

"I'm," sorry he wished to say. Perhaps her skin had clapped too painfully against his palm, he feared, and he released her.

"I hurt you. I mean, it was because of me that you were injured so. I never thanked you, formally. For saving my life, that is." This struggle he faced now was just as great a trial as the battle that came before.

"Does it hurt?"

Snow
 
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The sting of his hand met the pale flesh of her arm, and she whirled to face him. She met his stare, wide eyed and confused. She looked deep into his eyes, trying to understand. Her heart pounded in her chest, her base instincts telling her to run, but his eyes kept her glued in place, She found herself wanting to be closer, she wanted to rest her cheek against his bare chest, hear his heart beating, and breathe in his scent.

At the same time, she could feel him withdraw from her, creating a sort of distance. She wanted to question him, she wanted to understand. It was a sting that hurt more than when he had grasped her arm, the distance, She knew they had a duty to perform, but yet she felt this longing she had never felt before.

She dropped her eyes to the floor as he finally spoke, breaking the silence. She shook herself from her contemplation, and gave him a tired smile. "You don't have to thank me, I would do it again in a heartbeat." She absently touched the spot her still red scar started, from abdomen to thigh. "It is still a bit tender, but I heard how much you helped. How long you stayed to make sure I was alright. Thank you for that." She didn't mention the strange dreams that had started, that made her wake in a cold sweat every night. A fear that disturbed her rest, one that she could not place. She knew right now, he could not help her. Maybe if she waited long enough, he would let her get closer to him. She felt something she had never felt before for this man, it was a raw attraction that was worth waiting how long it took.

She gave him one more look, the longing not hidden well from her eyes. She placed the few pieces of research materials she had gathered onto the table. "I suppose we should get to the task at hand. What have you found so far." She wanted to be selfish, but she knew that no matter how she felt, this came first.
 
Imperial Magi

Ruždija Mesdjian

Character
Old Empire Citizen
Job
Maji
Gender
Male
Age
26
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Single
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Styx
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His brow flexed in concern, catching the line her fingers drew between abdomen and thigh. He fought the desire to touch her hand, to relive the touch of her scar and supple skin, as a charge of warm static rose up the back of his neck. Yet, frustration clouded that sublime sensation as the line drew a double meaning. That ritual he'd sworn off for the dangers it wrought, seemed to remain inescapable from that very line she drew, the lines that would be drawn.

"I wanted to. I can make you something for the pain. If you wish." Not now, of course, he meant. But he would, soon after, regardless of her answer.

His eyes caught hers for a moment, then fled away awkwardly. He didn't know what to think. Thought was inevitable and overwhelming even. But chaining together thoughts toward a conclusion was impossible. Her stare was seductive and intoxicating, yet terrifying in the same incredible lightning strike that it was.

Then she had to ask. He dulled to the dismal findings of his day, words escaping him after being thrown out all together before she had come. It was why he wore a robe now, the first preparations of a practice now banished from the table. The table now presented new options, and he looked them over.

"I've found less than incomplete entries and entire pages of outdated notes of trials at the hands of what can only be children playing with concepts they couldn't possibly understand. What might be useful is either torn out or fallen into disrepair. Whoever kept this library, didn't know their craft or else they died before finding a worthy successor. The air is too moist."

He casually picked up one of her books, almost still in mid sentence, interested in the decorative rune sewn into the cover. His hand alone was large enough to position the binding along his wrist and stroke a calloused middle finger along the sharp paper pages to feed into the middle of the fold and force its bindings spread open to reveal its safeguarded secrets for his discriminate eyes.

"Ah. I remember this. Give me your hand."

He opened his palm to receive her hand, then looked up at her with a warming half-smile almost becoming playful in his subdued way with slitted eyes. Then he hid the opened book in his chest, smooshing the pages pressed against his robe for fear that she might peek.

"I'll show you. Come on. Your hand."

His hand beckoned hers, but wouldn't wait despite his seemingly already forgotten conundrum. Magic excited him and he longed to share it. So he would sweep up her hand if she would not give it and cup his under hers.

"Now say it with me: Sut elimon ti de, sut li elay evital ar ey. Sut elimon ti de, sut li elay evital ar ey."

After repeating it with her, his larger hand would mold fingers around hers into a fist as warmth passed from his palm into hers. White-yellow light would grow inside her fist until he released her, guiding her to open her hand. Light would pour out as a periwinkle and wine colored butterfly fluttered out from a silver and emerald glittering mist. But with every moment came a new discovery from such a tiny miracle. Underneath the butterfly grew a green and winding stem that sprouted from Charlie's own skin. It was connected to the butterfly. Then it seemingly sneezed off a shedded skin that flaked a feathery snowflake dust that glittered gold, revealing a more translucent fairy of glowing green skin and neon wings. Still tethered to the stem that plumed little green leaves, Charlie's palm would be gathering a pile of bronzing sheddings and purple-dimming powder. The pillar of light dimmed and the stem wilted and turned. The fairy's wings beated slower as she began to fade. And finally she curled up into a cozy ball, yawning and stretching until wrapping herself into a dark purple rose with whitened edges that sank into Charlie's palm, assuming the natural posture of a real living thing. And finally, the purple rose rested, nestled in a bed of autumn leaves. And Ruždija released Charlie's hand.

Snow
 
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She nodded her head as he mentioned helping her with something to help cool the burning rawness her wound gave her. "I would be very grateful for anything that might help soothe it, the healers here have worked and worked at it, but for some reason the poultices they make do not touch it." Soon the bore down to the task at hand, and she listened intently, red hair nearly crimson in the candlelight. Her green eyes followed every movement he made. She could agree this library was less than suitable, but then again she hadn't visited that many to compare it by either.

She bit her lip in contemplation as he finished filling her in, and her eyes flickered to the tome he grasped in his hand. She could tell just by watching him, that he knew his way around books and handled them often. She could certainly learn a thing or two from him. She had had no one to teach her, she was thrust into civilization, forced to figure humans out on her own.


Ruždija asked for her hand, and with a curious look, she gave it. His smile made her look away, to hide a slight blush. She felt like a child for even blushing in the first place.He beckoned her to repeat a phrase, it sounded strange on her tongue, but she echoed it just the same. "Sut elimon ti de, sut li elay evital ar ey. Sut elimon ti de, sut li elay evital ar ey." He covered her hand, creating a fist, she gasped as warmth filled her closed hand, he guided her to open her fist, and she could scarcely believe what she was seeing. She wanted to touch the butterfly, the stem, all of the beauty that poured forth, but she did not want to break the spell. She couldn't express her wonderment in words, but her eyes lit up and she looked to Ruždija briefly in amazement. Then is was over, and the rose rested softly in her hand. It almost made her tear up,and she shook her head lightly to hide it. "That was beautiful. Thank you for showing me that, I've never seen anything like that." She was still mystified, and yet she knew they had to continue forward. She hoped he would show her more things like this, beautiful things, the more time they spent together.

She set the rose down softly, a warm smile still caressing her lips. "You know, if you want to, you can call me Charlotte. If you prefer." She offered this to him as an offhanded comment, but it was much deeper for her to offer him her true name than she would admit. She did not offer it up to many people, it was a very intimate thing for her. She glanced through some of the paperwork surrounding them. "Is it possible to create an item, rather than come up with an incantation? To stop the attack of unwanted myst attacks upon us?" She was a little out of her element, and she felt she may sound stupid, but she was trying her best to brainstorm any possibility that would give them a chance.
 
Imperial Magi

Ruždija Mesdjian

Character
Old Empire Citizen
Job
Maji
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Male
Age
26
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Single
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Styx
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"It's an interpretation, at least. The first time I attempted that spell, an angry puss-head grew from my instructor's nose. Needless to say, he was not as pleased as you," he trailed off as he watched the rose being set down, almost mumbling to himself at this point and falling back into his typical melancholy. Other memories came to mind, but they were nothing new. He shut out the torturous jolts of lightning bolts surging through his forearm as he bit down on a wedge of wood, or the endless regimens of incantations whilst hopelessly grinding his bloodied fingertips into lifeless husks of splintering pine. The methods of Rhisokan circles were crass and tedious, albeit well practiced and brutally effective. He only longed for the beautiful wilds now, free and peaceful.

An arrow to the chest. There it was again, that gaping sensation she caused in him. His eyes fluttered and looked up, seeing those very wilds he longed for before him, red and green.

Charlotte. The name was as rich and delicious as chocolate. He wouldn't dare say it, for fear of the tumult it would unleash upon them both. His eyes hung as heavy as ever, tracing the side of her face that caught candlelight like a flame melting a bronzed statue. They burned brighter now as the night grew upon them, crickets beginning to chirp outside. The book slid down his chest in his hand as he watched her look through the paperwork until it rested at his side. Then she wounded him. It seemed he could not escape the ritual he'd sworn away. Her suggestion was inevitable, he knew, as his eyes fell in defeat. He looked at the pages she drew from, one of which he swore he'd thrown from sight. But there it was, despite all odds. And yet there were no odds, only ends. And it was the only end.

He sighed.

There was only one way, it seemed, and damned if he was going to let her be the one to do it. She would never know of the choice. He would carry that weight until the end. It was his burden to bear. And she would never again suffer another night under his watch. And so he fell into despair, detached now more than before in the daunting task that stood before him. It was the only way, he decided.

"Yes. There is." He banged the book down closed on the corner of the table, teetering nearly off the edge, then grimly reached passed Charlotte's arm across the entire surface area of the table and swept away a handful of pages, opened scrolls, and books. Her book, along with some others, tumbled off the table to the floor. A knife wobbled on the table, no longer hidden underneath. Pulling the mess to the left, he revealed a large depiction of etchings in a musculature design. It looked like a piece of artwork drawn into the dark yellowed-tan parchment that could've lined the table if someone so desired. Half of the illustration lay flat and large, only symbols and runes strung together by ritual lines as a literary text. The other half formed over the shapely depiction of a naked male torso and genitalia with realistic droplets of blood dripping from his body, lines drawn from arm and shoulder all the way down chest and abdomen to inner thigh. Scribbled notes cluttered the corners of the parchment and a blotch of dried blood colored the bottom left corner, the last area revealed. The note connected to it read in an ancient tongue saying, script in red must be cut into flesh.

He turned to face her and opened his robe to bare his woolly chest, letting it fall to the floor behind the heels of his grimy boots.

"There is a way to defend against powerful aggressions. This will empower me to shield us from curses. One on each palm and arm. And this. This will subdue an aggressor, no matter their advantage over us. Inscribed upon my chest, I will arrest any opponent for our companions to capture. You need only illustrate this manual upon my body and cut into my flesh. I will enter into a trance and enchant my blood with the magics of this Myst ritual, and then I will return my blood to my body and it will infuse these markings with the power of the spell."

Ruždija avoided any worded involvement of Charlotte where he could, taking on as much responsibility as possible all at once. He mustn't allow her to even consider any other way of handling this. Yes, there were other spells. But they would not contain a more powerful opponent. And he'd been over this a hundred times in his head. A fabled sorceress was no doubt beyond their imaginings. And he whole-heartedly believed in her existence. He'd seen enough to know of the possibilities. If he relied solely on his own powers, he knew he'd fail. Something in the dark reaches of his mind warned him to be prepared, someone.

He roughly pounded a hand onto the knife handle and picked it up, presenting it to her. He reached to force it into her hand and looked closely into her eyes, hot breath against her lips with a hint of gnashed mint leaf still stuck to the crown of his bicuspids.

"You must do this. There is no other way. Not for this."

Hot oil had no doubt cooled to room temperature around the bookshelf nearby, still sitting there on the shelf from where he'd placed it earlier. And ink wells littered the library. But a metal basin had been set beside one specifically to gather all the ink into one place. It was all but prepared. It was all but destined. He would be that item, incantation wrapped about his very body. With this they could not fail. With him as their sacrifice, the coming fight would be won. With this ritual, they would be bound together.

Snow
 
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Charlotte grimaced at his description, and shook her head with a laugh. "I'm glad that I got a rose instead of something like that!" She could only imagine what he described, and then dashed the thought from her mind. It was not an image she wanted to linger on. He started to withdraw away and into himself again, and she frowned. It seemed he spent a lot of time alone, and did not want to rely on others to help with his worries. Then again, how well did they really know one another, other than the electricity that ran between them.

And so, with further distance he placed between them, he swept the table clear. Her eyes caught the sight of the knife, and she looked at Ruždija in confusion. He revealed the parchment, and she studied it carefully. Charlotte did not like where this seemed to be going. She took a step back, her instincts compelling her to run, yet she was not quite sure why.

He dropped his robes, and she studied him with worry creasing her forehead, and then she understood. He made it clear, and his explanation chilled her. She wrapped her arms around herself, and shook her head. She pleaded at him with her eyes, before a choked whisper escaped her lips. "No. There has to be another way."

She took another step back as he stepped towards her, thrusting the knife into her grasp. She almost dropped it, her hands shaking and her face pale. She couldn't imagine hurting him, sinking a blade into his flesh. It made her feel sick, and the goose pimples were evidence that it was not right.

It seemed that he was forcing this upon her, on him. She didn't think he would do something so drastic if he didn't believe it was necessary. Her eyes misted, and she blinked away the hot tears, that threatened. She turned from him, sighing and composing herself before speaking. She forced a stillness, a calmness, like when she hunted her prey down in the wilds. Still turned from him, she spoke. A distant and cold tone, one that she'd have to adopt to get through this task. It pained her to detach herself from him like this, but she'd never make it otherwise. "If you are certain, it will be done. Just know I don't agree with your decision, but I trust you, and I know you don't do this lightly." She turned back towards him, green eyes cast down, but her hand gripping the knife with resolve.
 
Imperial Magi

Ruždija Mesdjian

Character
Old Empire Citizen
Job
Maji
Gender
Male
Age
26
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Single
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Styx
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Her reaction spurned him. His resolve fell to the floor. Gorro's claws gnarled around his neck. Ender patted the crown of his bowing head. They grinned together devilishly in their oppressive embrace. But no, it was something else that lurked there. Something else pulled the strings with a misinterpreted zeal. Antlers in the wood cast in a flash of lightning. He swallowed down his anxieties, debilitating grip choking it trapped there. Her back was a darkness he could not face. His hair hung over his expression of defeat, hiding from her tone.

Her words were reassuring, but the spirit of them cut deeper than the knife he forced her to wield. At least he had fooled her into forgetting her options. It was for her benefit that she did. He would not cut her, not a chance in the world. In that she was far stronger than he could ever be. Together they stood with heads low and heavy, until he found the only words left to him.

"Thank you," for letting me take this burden, was the subtext of his regretful gratitude.

He longed to hold her shoulder, reassure her and ground her, feed fingers up the back of her neck and pull her forehead to his in solemn embrace. But the chilling winds that blew from her culled those yearnings. Instead, he turned away.

The magi crossed passed her coldly with a withheld shoulder and moved to gather his things. He walked around a bookshelf where she could not see him for a moment and picked up the basin and the now warm oil. He brought it back and set it upon the table at the corner of the yellowed parchment.

"Will you gather the inkwells?"

It stung to request more of her, but fear of the looming experience hastened him. The presence hanging over his shoulders might be released of him upon completion.

He walked the library and gathered candles, starting a winding path away from her but inevitably coming back like some magnetic pull drew her to him, and awkwardly shifted around her in a tight juncture to complete his circle. Returning to the table, he would bend down and set the candles upon the floor.

"Place them in an evenly spaced circle around the table," he reticently instructed her with grim head hung over the table's illustration. Reassuringly he continued, "I will light any that need be."

Kneading his tongue against the roof of his mouth, building a pool of saliva, he pulled the basin over and set it under his chin upon a small wire carrier. Then he spit. He placed a palm over the basin and closed his eyes, whispering incantation, then a second, until the metal burned hot with light. He removed his hand with a singe of pain and the basin was full of simmering water.

"We have no brushes, so you'll use your hands to draw the symbols." He placed the closed oil container over the basin to let it steam. Then he turned around and leaned back against the table, hunched over, propping his hands on either side of his hips. "But first, you'll need to shave me."

It was actually embarrassing to ask this of her, now that the time had come. He hadn't given it much thought before, but now that this cloud had settled upon them, asking such a trivial and intimate thing seemed a little unusual. He was on the hairier side, which seemed a strange first obstacle for such a dark ritual. But it remained between them and their goal, nevertheless.

His eyes crept up from their depressive fixation of the floor, vulnerable in their curiosity to see her reaction. He wasn't practiced in the art of manscaping, didn't prefer oil or wax to nature's foliage. A bit of a bush sprouted from under his naval and it was sure to interfere with the ritual. Just the thought of it turned his thoughts against him, beginning to conclude that this was a bad idea. He began to search for the words to rescind his instruction. He couldn't force her to do this. He should just take the knife and go do this himself.

Snow
 
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She saw him crumble, and felt her own heart crumble at the sight of it. He looked that way because of her, and her coldness. There was a heavy silence as they stood, averting their eyes from each other. He spoke, a thank you. How could he possibly thank her? Her head snapped up, a pained look in her eyes. How could he thank her for cutting his flesh?

He walked away from her, matching her coldness, and it made her ache. He brought the oil and set it on the edge of the parchment, and she felt a chill race up her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward herself of what was to come. He asked her to gather the ink, and she did as if moved by a puppeteer. Quietly he brushed past her again, she wanted to stop him. Reassure him.

The returned to the table in unison, and he instructed her on the candles, she did so with a nod quickly doing his bidding with the grace of a mouse trying not to wake the cat. He then brought the water, using magic to heat it. The oil was being warmed and she felt a hot blush creep across her pale face. It was a very intimate thing, one to use her hands on his body to paint the symbols, she could do that with little issue, but to shave him was another thing altogether!

She felt the coldness crack, a mask peeling away. She covered her mouth to stifle and awkward giggle, she wasn't a girl after all. Who would've thought they'd be here right now, in the position. he dropped her hand and issued a deep sigh, her green eyes flashing to him, hoping he would meet her gaze this time. She studied him, and with a final decision to herself, strode quickly to stand directly before him. "Oh my Ruždija, for you, anything." She had had enough of their awkward dance. It was all or nothing at his point. She stood on her toes, hands resting on his barren chest, and kissed him lightly.

She sank back to her heels, about to turn away. About to pursue this ritual he deemed so necessary. The rest was up to him, she assumed he'd find it in himself to accept or deny her. She could only hope it was acceptance. She had no one, but maybe now she had him. She reached for the knife on the table, happy she had decided to make her feelings known.
 
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Ruždija Mesdjian

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Old Empire Citizen
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Maji
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Male
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26
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Single
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Styx
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The singing stone's song ceased. Candlelight faltered. Shadow had darkened his eyes, helpless to her approach, as he was paralyzed by her words and enthralled by her touch. He watched her draw in to him, sheepish giant encased in stone. Her lips kissed his ever so lightly. He kissed back, just as gently, eyes filled with angst. Their moist skin stuck for a second, then pulled apart.

His palm grabbed her arm again. Then the other. Fiercely he pulled her around, picked her up off the floor, and seated her on the table, its contents shaking. His grip was firm. He stood close, between her legs, head lowered in shame.

"Charlotte," he pleaded. "Forgive me," he whispered.

The floodgates burst and he bent in to kiss her, passion replacing tenderness. The singing stone resumed her howling lament. His hand moved to cup her cheek, first brushing back her crimson hair to feel her softness. His other hand fed in to her waist, sneaking behind her before wrenching her pelvis closer. Candlelight burned bright, fires flickering even where there had been none before. His scarred lips pressed closed into hers, impassioned breath quickening and puffing from his nostrils. His eyes squeezed tight.

"Charlotte," he repeated, relishing the toxicity she induced.

His eyes returned to her, burning hot. His arousal pressed rigidly against the table between her legs. And he dove in for more. He returned for another kiss, hands moving along her body. His lips pressed into hers, then pulled away only to return with a slight opening. They found hers again, fitting together and inviting more.

His fist pressed into the table, pinning her thigh in against his side, as his feral energy lifted his heels off the ground. His weight made the wood ache, until he returned to his heels and shifted in his eager stance. Hungry for more, he continued feasting on her lips. Unable to resist, he hounded her relentlessly.

"Charlotte," he said lustfully, a hair's breath of air to spare.

He wanted to tear her free of her clothes, to take her here and now. Nothing else mattered. The freedom of this passion was exhilarating. He felt as though in a free-fall, or an empowered rush through the woods. He felt like an enraged predator, sprinting through the forrest after his prey. The thrill emboldened him, muscles throbbing with inhuman swelling as he pounded through the thick wood. The air became hot, humid and sticky. The Myst surrounded them, unnatural eyes lingering with an eerie presence, likewise on the brink.

The oil bubbled. The candles connected around them, lighting a ritual circle. The ink rippled to the stirrings on the table. The night was young.

Snow
 

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