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Wind's Whisper

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  • Wind's Whisper

    A thin girl was seated on the edge of the bar counter of Rama's Corner. Locks of hair the color of a dying fire draped over her lowered, shadow-hidden face. She touched the dark, wirey thread that attached her pale hands to her wrists and sighed, her head tilting to look at the ceiling. A soft tune slipped over her lips, her voice sweet-and-sour with its tender lyrics carrying a haunting undertone.

    "Swallow purple terror candy, don't forget to breathe. Haunted by the wanting and drowning from the need.."

    This was her communication. Music. She sang words that could melt the heart and rip it in two and leave the mind in wonder. The stitches running across her cheeks from the corners of her mouth curved into a sad sort of grin.

    "Butterflies, butterflies, my heart will be the bridge that you walk over."

  • #2

    It is said in folk lore and myth that beneath the crests of waves, shrouded by dank mists, sirens sing. Their voices stretch across the midnight winds and fall upon nothing by night air for eternity, however by chance, perhaps one night each millennia, hopeful ears will catch a bar of the tune and thus become snared. Lusting for the source of the melodic voice, they trawl the seas relentlessly, only to find a watery grave as they are ploughed into the very rocks on which the siren sits. Whether you believe that the dryad is luring unfortunate souls for fun or simply out of want for company, it is still quite the compelling story.

    Strangely enough, this evening something perhaps akin to the myth sang.

    The young vampire pulled what remained of his cowl around the lower portion of his face as he paced into Rama’s Corner. This night he had been inexplicably drawn to the bar, finding a deep curiosity driving his steps as he weaved faultlessly through the crowds. A soft voice floated beneath the current of murmurs and chatter, somehow over-riding the drunken babble that the Apprentice despised so.

    His dark eyes came to fall, after inspection, upon the one whom he sought for – a rag doll, ill-stitched and crudely conceived. A single eyebrow lofted on his face, though it was little noticed due to the curtain of matt hair across his brow.


    • #3

      Sonya blinked slowly and turned to look at the man, a corner of her small, full lips twisting into a pleasant smirk. She rest her hands on the counter beside her and looked back into the crowd with another tune, slower and more dreary than it ought to be.

      "I come from the imagination..."

      She grinned lightly and pushed herself off the counter, wobbling a bit on her stitched legs, the heels of her small boots clicking against the floor in a jumbled rhythm. Her head turned to face Salem as she finished her line of lyrics, almost tauntingly.

      "..And I'm here strictly by your invocation.."


      • #4

        He looked upon the girl, as he presumed this was what she was, without reaction to her words. The song seemed vaguely familiar, yet it was of no real consequence as to where he had heard it – he would no doubt find out from the woman herself. The eyebrow fell back into place as he raised one clawed, cloven hand to gesture towards the unstable figure.

        “You have drunken farrr too much of the filth herrre,” Salem said in a murmur, in refresh to the fact that he believed her unusual behavior could be attributed to alcohol.

        “I sss-uggest you leave before some degenerate decides you are rrripe to take advantage of.”


        • #5

          Tendrils of auburn hair were tossled about as the ragdoll shook her head. She looked at the man again and frowned lightly, then glanced about the room.

          "Never touched it."

          Her voice still carried a small tune with it as she spoke,pulling herself up to sit on a barstool. She stretched out a pale leg and tapped a line of stitches.

          "Just strung together all wrong."


          • #6

            A hiss struck from his vocal cords as he darted his gaze away from the outstretched leg. It was not that he found what he saw repulsive or even enticing, but something else.

            “Sss-own like a child’s toy,” Salem muttered to himself.

            A laboratory creation no doubt. Ironic, he thought that he found himself so often playing God, yet had not yet pursued science enough to engineer his own play things. It would have been rude to immediately question the woman’s origins, though his interest was piqued on this matter. A frown furrowed into brow as he turned back to look upon the ever-cheery face.

            “Then why do you wail?”


            • #7

              Her bony shoulders gave a shrug as she pulled her small feet up to lean on the stool's edge, long arms wrapping around her legs. She stared at the man's face, as if the answer to his question lay within his shadowed features. After a long pause of silence, she gave another, almost helpless shrug and looked at the counter, a hand moving as she turned, to scratch at the worn surface.

              "Perhaps I'm just a lost little song bird..."

              The stitches across her cheeks curved toward her chin in a saddened frown as her eyelids lowered, long eyelashes shadowing her pupils with a distant gaze. Then, her expression changed again, playful as she looked over her shoulder at the dark visitor.

              "...Or perhaps it is my trap for curious people such as yourself."


              • #8

                "I fail to sss-ee how a tattered remnant of a human could possibly pose a threat to anyone,"

                He spoke with a self-righteous uffish tone, dark eyes unnoticably starting straight down his nose towards the stitched girl.

                "Essspecially me."


                • #9

                  Sonya simply smiled mockingly and turned back around as she started scratching a picture into the bar counter, her feet moving as they sway absently. Maybe she was just a harmless, human shell. A soft-to-touch doll as breakable as porcelain. She was never really sure. Her voice slipped quietly over her lips with a sweet sound, a bit of a tone behind it like salt on an aching wound.

                  "I've seen them overlooking god in their own essence...I've seen their upward glances in hopes of instant salvation...I've seen their righteousness mixed without loving compassion... I've watched you smile as the students bow to kiss your feet.."


                  • #10

                    The vampyre looked away slowly, with a slight shake of his head, before approaching the bar - some five or so feet from where the girl sat. He ordered a bloodwine and slipped the bartender a few credits, trying not to pay any mind to the still singing girl.


                    • #11

                      Her large eyes disappeared under the shadow of her hair as she leaned her chin on folded arms. She raised her hand and stared at the thinner threads that ran across her palm. For only a second, she glanced towards the man and smirked a bit. She wasn't completely sure of what he was. She could only tell that life wrenched away from him. Even the ar around him felt cold and dead. Vampyre? It was worth a try..

                      "And you... If not living, nor dead, nor truly natural.. Where do you belong in this materialistic universe?"


                      • #12

                        He did not answer at first, nor did he intend to. He took up his drink and sipped on it, the warmth of the fresh blood coursing instantly through his body. It was only after this, and having felt her eyes boring into his side, that he snapped his head around to face her.

                        "At the head of the sss-ystem, thinning the herrrd."


                        • #13

                          "Is that so..?"

                          Sonya yawned a bit and went back to scratching at the wooden surface. It wasn't until she sat up fully that she noticed what she'd been carving; A menacing owl with a mouse dangling from its talons. She smirked to herself and whispered.

                          "If that's what this will be like... Then who gets to play who?"


                          • #14

                            "You can be the owl... And I, will the be..."

                            From beneath the heavy cuff of his jacket he outstretched one hand. With a quick few moments, he cut a new image into the engraving - a gaping chasm of a jaw with twin razor fangs plunging towards both the owl and mouse.


                            • #15

                              A quiet laugh left her mouth as she looked at the image's addition. Her gaze moved up to the Vampyre as she shook her head.

                              "I don't believe it. You would have done something already, while I was ignorant of what you are."

                              A small grin grew across her lips.

                              "And besides that.. I've heard that embalming fluid has a greatly unpleasent aftertaste."