The Dance - Attn: Zemiocro

[Winter Mist]

~Toulan~

 

Her training was coming along in earnest.  Toulan had not felt so in control of herself, or of her abilities than at this moment.  Two days after being presented as Toulan Daemeau, her own woman rather than her mother’s daughter, a letter had arrived from one of the wealthy estates.  Carefully excising the wax seal, she slid an elaborately decorated fingernail under the opening edge of the letter and opened it.  Now, her eyes fell on a worthy subject.  Well, well, well… A member of the nobility of Tear had seen her entrance to the world of politics and courtly manners and wanted a private audience with her.  It did not seem a dangerous thing to ask and now that she had come of age, Toulan was inclined to acquiesce to his request.  Carefully, she chose a place and time in the centre of Tear itself; he would be far less likely to try anything while they were in public.  Besides, she wanted some measure of what the man was like and that meant dinner first, really.  She rolled the tube of paper up and threw it into the fire, carefully standing back in case any additives had been put into the paper.  It was something she would do herself, so she could hardly discount it from someone else.  An additive to the ink that would burn with a foul-smell and strong enough fumes to knock a person out.  Oh yes, very useful.  Toulan’s lips curved into a smile that would shame a pampered housecat. 

 

At her writing desk she penned a short reply in her elegant, flowing handwriting, and sent it off with a servant to be delivered as soon as they could arrange it.  The Great Lord of the Dark willing it would not take long before she had a reply to her note, requesting dinner at the Maule Shade tavern, three days from now. 

 

Toulan chose her outfit with care now that the night had finally arrived.  Neither her mother or father knew of her intent; she could not say for her brothers.  Leon and Gabriel had been … different of late.  Toulan could do nothing more than usual and to keep an eye on them.  A word with her beloved mother might be in order though, purely so there was someone that knew where she was.  It was hardly a secret assignation, after all.  Wearing a dress she would normally wear, Toulan went to see her mother and advised her of the details she had arranged for this meeting.  The approving nod and glint in her mother’s eyes gave Toulan the tacit approval she was looking for and also something else.  Was it a hint of envy she saw?  Toulan could not say for that, but giving the deepest curtsey she could, Toulan left the room and went to dress herself for dinner with the man.  Oh yes, the message had been clear from her mother.  Learn as much as she could.  All knowledge was worth having, after all.

 

She wore a simple dress in the Ebou Dari style, to be different.  It was deepest red at the bodice and showed off her pale creamy skin beautifully.  The skirts were full and showed a hint of petticoat at the hem, and they were in a shade of red so dark it was almost black.  Toulan had spent the majority of the afternoon working on her hair so that it resembled a coiled serpent atop her head while maintaining the effect of her naturally sculpted beauty.  A string of pearls around her neck and Toulan was ready.  The carriage came for her to take her into the city proper where she would dine at one of the highest priced taverns.  And if she were to successfully use her training, she would not pay for a mark of it.

 

He was already there when Toulan arrived.  It was her wont to be fashionably late, but she was on time today because it was different with patrons, or rather, potential patrons.  Why risk a wrath she needn’t have to?  It was like courting the Light – sooner or later, someone would inevitably try to preach you to convert.  It would be a downward spiral from there.  Toulan, full of warm beauty that never reached her face, and kept her face carefully neutral until she could be certain of how to behave.  First impressions made the most impact.  She studied him as much as she could and liked what she saw.  She dropped a slight curtsy, and then introduced herself as Toulan Daemeau.

 

[zemiorco]

Galtar‘s true love‘s death had changed him. Bedding her had changed him. Killing what he had thought his best friend had changed him. Sometimes he wondered what kind of man he was. How much Galtar there was left of him.

 

Leaving his estates near the spine of the world he had come to the capital, to Tear. Back home there were people that did not like him and he knew too well, sooner or later he could wake with a blade in his back. And besides, his aunt was there, ruling. And she certainly seemed to think he was owing her something. For what he could not comprehend. He thought he owed her a blade in her back. Or a slash across her throat. No more. No less.

 

Tear had suited him better than the desolate countryside of his youth. There was art in Tear. There were bards of skill that were able to bring their tales to life. There were sculptors that actually sculpted lifelike creatures, and there were intellectuals. He had been lucky enough to meet some of these men, some gifted with the most brilliant minds.

 

Residing at the Ivory Mansion, a nice location even if there was nothing ivory about the place he could see, he had a room towards the sea. He liked the tavern, for it was one of the better locations in Tear but not as expensive as some, and he did have to watch his money. His estates were wealthy, but his beloved aunt, the great lord of the dark my torture her all the way to insanity, made sure he felt her disapproval of his sudden disappearance. And without going home he had no way to change this.

 

Putting yet another letter of hers aside without opening it, he carefully considered a different handwriting carefully. His heart was racing just to look at this letter. It clearly was a girl‘s work. And if she looked remotely like she wrote, she would be at least as stunning as Zahlia had been.

 

„Zahlia…“

 

Breaking the seal he carefully opened the note. He had learned that there was Ebou Dari nobility in Tear by chance. Certain circles were seething with rumors what had brought them here. He already knew her name. Toulan Daemeau. A name to suit that writing. A name to suit a great beauty. He was sure she was a stunning girl, but not a brainless damsel. Not by the way she wrote. Zahlia had been brainless, he knew that now. Zahlia had written like a flower. Toulan was a rose too, but her writing had thorns. 

 

Bringing the page to his nose he thought he could make a slight feminine scent.

 

Her skin was like velvet. Her hair like silk. The sound of her breath was like a faintly moist melody. And her ragged moans filled him with unknown satisfaction.

 

Maule Shade. He had to remember Zahlia was dead. She was still like a drug that filled his mind. Sometimes he even thought he could taste her. Zahlia. Death had been her proper reward.

 

„At least you died after I had you. That night gave your death a meaning.“ Putting the braid of her he carried on him aside - he would not carry that tonight - he concentrated on the letter. Maybe it had been that braid he had smelled, taking in the scent from the letter? It did not matter. He wanted to meet this Toulan Daemeau for a different reason. Power. Well, not just that. A pretty face was like a piece of art. An educated voice a source of pleasure. A woman with such a handwriting and way to express herself had to have some education, and it would be lovely to spend a night with her. No matter how the night ended. 

 

Maule Shade. He knew the place. For her to suggest that, she had to be what the rumors said: Pretty, mighty and rich. Walking to his wardrobe he pulled out his best gowns. The shirt had enough ruffles to nearly look how he imagined an Altaran petticoat, and the silk was the best money could buy. But the pants he would don were fairly simple in cut and as black as his soul. Only some embroidery ran down their sides. Again, the intricate pattern told of the quality, as did the fabric. The same was true of the jacket he would wear.

 

Considering his reflection in the mirror he was pleased. The pants were tight enough to show off his backside and what made him a man. The jacket pronounced his shoulders, while the shirt made sure people would know his station. He was the heir of his house. His aunt might act the high seat, but really she was just keeping the space until he returned. Finishing his appearance off with some gold - just a heavy rind around his finger and a thick chain on his neck - and some perfume, he finally set off.

 

He was early there, but he did not mind. Ordering some expensive wine he sat back and listened to the heated discussion at the other table. They were talking about the nature of philosophy. It was rather intriguing. But then she came.

 

The dress was simpler than what he had imagined her to wear. But that only brought the focus to her face. Not that the dress was boring. He thought the hint of her petticoats coming into sight at each motion was rather cheeky. And somehow she managed to look like some sea folk porcelain doll. Prettier then a life woman, delicate, as if she would shatter on touch, and somehow more breathtaking. Almost the way Zahlia had, when she had dangled from the beam of her room, dead. Zahlia had never been prettier than in that instant.   

 

Rising smoothly as she made her way to him, he bowed with all respect due for such a perfect piece of art. He felt his hands itch to touch this doll. He felt like dressing her up. Like painting her lips and brushing her hair, the way he had done with Zahlia‘s dolls as child. Of course he managed to suppress that lust.

 

„I am Galtar, mylady. I am most pleased you came. And the rumors were wrong. They claimed the Lady Toulan Daemeau was pretty. I shall see to have these sources punished. Milady is perfection. I doubt many swans have feathers as white to match you pale skin.“ His hand itched to touch her hair. „And clearly, you had an Aes Sedai as hairdresser. Stunning.“ Softly he kissed her hand, before guiding her to her seat. Carefully he helped her with her chair.

 

„Did you have a save journey here?“

 

Only then his gaze noted her neck. He was not prone to faint, but that neck... he knew he would have dreams. A neck like this was rare. So frail. So delicate. So small. The pearls adorning it were out of place though. There should be a rope. And he should hold it, as he strangled her.

[Winter Mist]

~Toulan~

 

If first impressions were anything to go by, Toulan would have left at the first sight of him.  He was distinctly prepossessing.  The first rule of her training had been to never judge a book by its cover, particularly when you could not read all the details on the contents page.  Men were like onions, she was beginning to discover, with many layers that could result in unpleasantness if peeled the wrong way.  Women, she was also discovering, were far worse than that and you would not know if the target had been approached in a way that she did not like until it was much too late.  She’d probably find out later in her training that there was a way to identify the key signals before one woke to poison or a knife, but for now she should rely on natural caution and not try to run before she could walk.

 

Toulan sat in the chair the man named as Galtar held out for her.  “The trip passed uneventfully, Milord.  One journey is much like another, I have found.”  Their conversation paused as a maid came to their table to ask if they wanted some wine.  Toulan nodded and, to make her guest feel comfortable, she let him choose what he wanted to drink.  Red wine of a Tairen vintage was ordered.  Toulan favoured white wine, but she did not have to drink much of it.  Indeed, prudence would dictate that she would never drink much while on assignation.  Pander to their egos and they’ll eat out of the palm of your hand…

 

The maid bustled off.  Toulan cast her eye surreptitiously around the room to see a few other couples sat at tables in the establishment, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes.  She would sooner convert to the Light than give him the satisfaction of doing that on a first meeting.  Coolly, she held his gaze and tapped a long, white finger on the tablecloth.  She stopped it after a time because she realised that in order to get him to convey information to her without him realise, he had to believe he had the upper hand.  Her finger-tapping felt more like a dominant gesture than a pliable, weak gesture of her inane nobility, so she discontinued the practice and berated herself for giving mixed signals.

 

The wine was a little longer in coming than Toulan would have expected from such a place as this.  She would have to have words with someone about the decreasing level of service.  That was an issue for another time; if they wanted her continued custom and patronage, they would have to learn how to treat their important guests preferentially. 

 

Before the silence could stretch into something pregnant and interminable, Toulan initiated conversation.  “I trust you had a pleasant journey.  I am so very pleased I chose to accept your invitation, kind sir.  Who would have thought that I would be invited to dinner by such a handsome man as yourself?”  She knew full well of her own beauty, and that men would kill for her, with just a little gentle persuasion.  Well, beauty was patient.  Beauty was also unkind to those spurned, she was noticing, and Toulan intended to make her beauty last a long time.  A search for expensive cures and crèmes would be an interesting sideline, and she could always encourage her suitors to bring her gifts of such things.  Yes.  That would be most suitable.  She would try anything to keep her beauty.

 

[zemiorco]

Galtar marvelled his own incredible powers. It had to be a gift from the Great Lord of the Dark. He had just been in this girl’s company for a few minutes now and they had shared no more than a few words, but he had looked right through her. She was like an open book. He knew why she had come. He knew why she was sitting there, looking as pretty as she did, and what had made her spend all this time getting prepared, dressing up to make herself look so stunning. There was only one reason why he did not voice it right then. He did not want her to realise what great an observer he was, and of course, he did not want to appear like a show off. But it was all very clear to him. It made all sense. Even her nervous, anxious tapping with the finger it all added up to a very clear picture.

 

The conclusion was simple: She was looking for a husband. And clearly, she was rather taken with him. But then, which girl would not have been taken with someone as handsome and smart? Still, he doubted she realised fully what incredible husband she was getting herself.

 

ZAHLIA

 

For a moment his teeth grated as his jaw’s muscles tensed convulsively. No, Zahlia has been misled. She had loved him until her mind had been poisoned. And she was still his. She was! But now she was gone. She had ended her life after reaching fulfilment in his arms. He pushed her memory out of his mind.

 

Galtar was not quite sure why the incredible dove that had settled on the chair opposite him was stating the obvious. But still, he did suddenly realise that tonight would cost him a fair bit. But then, spending on what would be his wife was nothing to be concerned with. He would spoil her with anything she desired.

 

His wife… something else made him wonder. It was a question the average man would find rather silly, but then the average man had not been focused since his infancy on marrying one special girl. The average man had not been oblivious to all girls apart from one. Galtar had. And to him, the question was not unusual. This Toulan looked like a doll. In fact she looked exactly like Zahlia’s favourite doll. If he was to marry her, and undress her, would he find a dolls body, beautifully curved and yet asexual? Or would she be somewhat akin to what he had discovered unclothing Zahlia? For a moment he wondered if that was a question he could ask her here, at dinner. But then decided against it. There would be a time later.

 

“The pleasure is mine.” He smiled. “Do…” An actual cough attack saved him from actually calling her ‘doll’. After a moment he began again. “Toulan. Is it true what they claim about Altaran women? Are they as fierce as they claim?” She did not look one bit fierce to him. She looked soft, cultivated and innocent to him. Somehow it was not the same innocence Zahlia has possessed. But then there was not much these two women had in common. Zahlia had been day, Toulan was night. How could one compare? Toulan was also very oriental. Yes, Toulan was like silk. She had come from strange lands, a world unknown to him. Zahlia had been like wool. Fine wool, but still familiar and very ordinary. And of course, Toulan was pretty. Very, very pretty at that. Looking at her again, he realised she was prettier than Zahlia. She was so pretty, she started to intimidate him.

 

“If our lines are to establish a relationship, I would like to hear more of you. Anything…The colours you like, the shades you hate. Your passions and past times. The novels you read and the poetry that elevates your heart. D…” She was making him nervous. Would she mind it if he actually called her doll? He did not mean it in any way bad. He was a shamed of it, but he had taken fun in playing with dolls. He admired dolls. But then any moment with Zahlia had been fun. And playing with dolls had made him feel as if he had played with the girl of his dreams. Yes, later, when he had been a little older, undressing the dolls, had kind of felt as if he had undressed Toulan… NO… Zahlia! In the name of the light… the shadow… this woman was making him nervous.  “Zahlia… Doll… Toulan… do you happen to know the rhymes of Maredo? They are my favourite.”

 

[Winter Mist]

~Toulan~

 

The rhymes of Maredo.  An educated man then, although it would please Toulan not to let him know that she knew.  She shook her head, sending waves of dark hair shimmering over her shoulders like a flight of ravens.  Toulan was forced to re-evaluate her original thoughts of his intelligence when he started calling her by a different name.  A thought occurred to her.  A man, so enigmatic, so dark, asking her to dinner after seeing her but once…  The man had issues, obviously.  She could think of two possibilities.  One, he was feeling the strings of impossible guilt that somehow related to a woman in his past or two, he was a male channeller and was hearing voices in his head.  There was a third possibility; that he was just playing with her to see how she would react to being called by a different name.  A thought extended from that considered the possibility that he had so many different lovers that he could not tell them all apart.  How flattering was that?  She shook her head again, hoping he would see it as the same gesture as before, showing her ignorance about the rhymes of Maredo.

 

Her training had not yet taken her that far.  She was certainly considering the basics, such as the reasons a person might do this, or might do that, but they had not yet ventured into such niceties.  Toulan had to admit that something so archaic seemed to have a charm all of it’s own, particularly if there was a nice messy ending that involved a lot of blood.  Her teeth almost seemed pointed when she smiled at him.

 

Back and forth words of small talk passed.  It was a game; each playing giving a little ground and testing the opponent for a weakness that they could exploit.  At least, that was how Toulan saw it.  If the man did not suspect a thing about her intelligence, it was a good thing.  She would return to the talk of the rhymes of Maredo in a little while. 

 

Her pale skin glowed with the candlelight.  It was expensive enough to eat in this inn that you probably had to pay for the privilege of being bathed in the candlelight, but as she did not intend to pay, Toulan did not mind in the slightest.  Her mind conjured all kinds of solutions as to how she would avoid paying.  And as the shadows danced across her face while she studied his, Toulan opened her dark, dark eyes at him and unleashed the full power of her charm.

 

“Would you recite me some of the rhymes of Maredo?  They sound so elegant that I would be most enchanted if you would read me some.”

 

[zemiorco]

Setting the glass of wine aside, the glass he had been sipping from all night since her arrival, he shifted his position. His fear was slowly waning, and gradually he no longer felt afraid of her. He was still careful, her beauty was blinding and the way her eyes sparkled was hypnotic. But slowly he thought he could navigate the shallow waters of her presence.

 

„The Rhymes of Maredo… If you don‘t know them, it would be a delight so recite some.“

 

Bringing his glass once more to his lips be began.

 

A thousand spears

Shatter the night

A thousand men

Set to do what‘s right.

 

They march like one

They sound like hordes

On to wild battle

Dark rattle the swords.

 

The land is fertile

The soil is black

Arrows notched

Horns blow attack

 

She stands watching

The sky is brave

The battle raging

Blood seeps the grave.

 

The war is waged

On her skin

The enemy so vile

Is her own kin.

 

The men are one

Their chant cruel

Bodies lying dead

Victorious the fool

 

But the battle couldn‘t

Cease the greed

The men are him

He feels the need.

 

She still stands there

A girl to entice

As they come

To claim their price

 

A blade is thrust

Into the ground

A body pinned

Gagged and bound.

 

She is all.

She is the grain

Ravaged from war

Tormented in pain

 

Lust is ache

Passion is force

The men’s breath

Ragged and coarse

 

The plow has torn

Her skin apart

Violence the seed

The flavor tart.

 

On they march

To glory brave

The land ravaged

The girl grave

 

Next summer

The land is lush

The Fruit is ripe

Born in a rush

 

A baby boy

Not pure

His mother’s pride

To cure.

 

He smiled gravely. He was certainly not a warrior. But that did not stop him from reciting poetry about war. Well, he was a man after all, and while he was afraid to get hurt in one on one combat, that did not stop him from being fascinated with strategy and the mechanics of war.

 

Moving softly, he slightly inclined his head. “I am sorry Milady. This is probably not the type of lyrics a girl would like to hear. Should I try to recite something more romantic?”

[Winter Mist]

~Toulan~

 

So the man knew something of bloody rhymes.  That was different, very refreshing, in fact.  She shook her head minutely and took a drink from her glass, feeling the warmth from the wine travel down her throat to her belly.  It was the only warm feeling she was having towards her companion.  At the least he was entertaining and pleasant to look at.  Gathering herself once more, Toulan stared at him, allowing herself to look deeply for a moment into his eyes.  She swallowed, raising a hand to her throat and wondered if his eyes would follow her gesture.  They did.  Her mind smiled.

 

“No, there’s no need to recite love poetry to me - unless, of course, you have a deep, dark secret for romantic poems.  It is such a delicate trait for a man to have.  I like that.”  She swirled the wine around in her glass and took another drink, deeply this time, and allowing herself to feel slightly heady from the vintage.  Toulan remembered she was here to get whatever information or promise she could get from this man in terms of pledges towards her personally.  A slave to her word, so to speak.  She began to go through the little touches that a woman learnt at the very beginning of her training to woo a man, making him unconsciously bound to her by captivating glimpses and tantalisingly brief touches.  This one looked a bit too used to such tender caresses, and so she fell back on one of the more obvious methods.

 

When choosing her dress earlier, Toulan had looked through her wardrobe for some shoes that would go with the outfit.  She had settled on some slippers that would match perfectly, and that did not have any fiddly buckles to undo.  Toulan hated that.  At the end of a long evening all one wanted to do was remove unwieldy footwear and put one’s feet up, not have to spend a good week undoing it.  Her lips moved in a poem of her own while she slipped one foot out of her shoe.

 

A mere glance or touch can linger

Paralysis in every finger

I wink my eye

And you kneel before me 

 

Where she had heard it before, she did not know, but in her low voice it sounded throaty and suggestive.  Her foot, now free from it’s fetters, crossed the distance between herself and her guest, and slid up the outside of his well-turned calf.  She smiled.

 

[zemiorco]

 

 

 

A deep, dark secret for romantic poems? Her words seemed to conflict and their meaning contradicted. How could love be dark? Wasn’t love the purest possible emotion? And yet, while the concept seemed wrong to his still fairly young mind, be could not deny that he felt it was rather appealing. The suggestion set his mind working until he stopped it. Well, there was still a buzz in the back of his head, and one look at her was enough to bring it up to an excited mutter.

 

Feeling slightly hypnotised he watched her lips move as she shared some lyrics of her own. He hardly heard the words. But he knew, he wanted to kiss those lips. He wanted to kiss her before she would part. He would kiss her tonight. He needed to kiss her… later. No, now. Something else happened. Well, a kiss from her would have been better, but since this came from her, it was the ultimate peak of sensation. Initially he thought her foot had on mistake brushed against his lower leg, but as the caress lasted, these doubts were taken from him.

 

“Milady… I feel compelled to say you are an exceptional woman.” With Zahlia he had been the one to do all the touching. Even during that one night of passion, he had been the one to claim her. That a girl could be active was a stunning new sensation to him. Suddenly, the kiss seemed to be no more than some place to start with. Suddenly he wanted more, so much more.

 

A vision penetrated his mind. It was a vision of him kneeling under the desk to suck her toes. The thought made him blush. He could feel his cheeks and forehead redden. The vision itself was only half the reason for his reaction. The way this vision made him feel was unexpected. In his mind such an action was a clear demonstration of devotion. It was something a dog might do to his master. And still, he felt compelled to just do that. Embarrassed he lowered his eyes, silently hoping she had not noticed that he had coloured. In his experience women disliked men acting like girls. And he felt he was acting just like the girl now. She had to think that, considering that she did not know what was going in his mind, he was very shy to blush at that. Suck her toes? He had never been fond of toes to begin with. Why was he thinking this now? Just because of the lingering sensation of her foot? This doll… woman was going to drive him mad.

 

He realised he had shifted his body with the desire to touch her lower leg, curious if he would find her bare skinned or wearing silken stockings. Half way reaching down he stopped dead. He looked up at her face rather wide eyed and shocked. Clearing his throat he sat back up straight. But he felt mortified. Had she any inkling what he had been about to do? Was he mad to be so blunt? But that question burned on his mind. Was she wearing silk stockings? How did her ankle and leg look? How would it feel to caress her?

 

He had to say something. Anything. He felt he was trapped, and he feared as soon as she would open her mouth it would be over. She would leave, and he would sit her feeling broken and empty.

 

She liked a man to recite romantic poetry?

 

He’d recite anything for her. Words flooded his mind and he uttered them unthinking:

 

Silken skin, velvet hair,

Bodice skin-tight,

Unafraid, no scare.

She is the night.

 

Leashed and tied up,

Broken and tamed

Wolf and yet pup

Desire: He’s ashamed.

 

His reciting had been frantic until now, like the frantic flapping of a fly that had gotten caught in a spiders net. Realising just what he had said made him surrender. He had gone to far to stop now. He might just go all the way now. And words still came to him. Not that the words bubbling up became any better. Only the rhythm changed.

 

She has lips, to forsake the light

Her skin ‘s like cream, perfectly white

My own desires are shocking,

I burn to touch her leg, feel her stocking.

 

There was no more blushing now. He had said, what there was to say. The only hinting he had been doing was to pack his thoughts and wishes into rhymes. But even that veil he obliterated now.

 

“Sorry if these rhymes are kind of crude. They…” He took a deep breath. “… yes, they just came to my mind now. Your presence prompted them.”

 

[Winter Mist]

 

~Toulan~

 

Her face wanted to smile.  This was the hardest part of her training so far; not allowing her expressions of satisfaction at how a subject was reacting to her wiles on her face.  He had done exactly what she had asked though, and was left wanting more.  Toulan’s foot settled back on top of her shoe where she could easily put it back on when they were about to go.  There was even a little ceremony involved with that, but she would not reveal that to him until it was the right time.  Toulan concentrated, and a blush appeared on her pale cheeks.  Keeping her eyes downcast, she appeared the image of a demure maid.  It would appeal to his masculine protective side.

 

“You recite poetry so well.  They are not crude in the least, and you honour me with your words.”  Toulan smiled.  The rest of the meal was spent exchanging more pleasantries and the occasional rhyme, and Toulan arched an eyebrow at the maid when she suggested something out of place instead of dessert. 

 

“Will you have something sweet, my lord?  There are some interesting delicacies on the menu here that, while expensive, are absolutely exquisite.”  There.  That put the onus on him to choose how much coin he was going to spend.  “If you do not want to taste, we can leave now and go our separate ways.”  And there was the veiled threat.  She imagined it was like fishing, having to wait patiently for the fish to take the bait and then pulling slightly harder to land the thing.  She deemed it barbaric and unnecessary to fish for sport.  The same as hunting, she thrived on it. 

 

“I wonder what else my presence will prompt.  I would hate for something to come up.”  A hand trailed up her bodice, lingering on her collarbone.  She made a noise in her throat that sounded like sheer pleasure and fixed him with a smoky stare.  “I personally recommend the cherries, cherries and cream.”

 

This man was playing into her hands beautifully.  Toulan thought her mother would be immensely proud of her for her first outing in her chosen profession.  Her father would be horrified, but there was no way under the dark that he would find out.  Not if she had anything to do with it.  A thought occurred to her.  Suddenly uneasy eyes glanced around for a sign of her brothers, but she could not see them.  Toulan flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder, and sighed with her restored calm.  Time to land this fish.

[zemiorco]

He had only been a few hours in this girls company, but already now Zahlia seemed to be part of a different life. The momory of her was fading as his desire for Toulan grew. He had the vague feeling she might just be toying with him, that she might be playing some cruel game. But he was hooked, the way a fish might be to some sweet, deceiving fishing rod.

 

Had she teased him on before, she was now keeping him in thin air. Did she think he would be satisfied to just make idle conversation, now, that he had presented his deepest, darkest desires? Somehow he managed to work up his spirits, and as she teased him further with apparently innocent talk of desserts, the great lord of the dark knew cherries had never before sounded that erotic, his fingers leashed out and caught her hand.

 

He feared this boldness would make her get up and leave, that she might vanish like a soap bubble bursting on touch. She did not, but the thrill of his fingers holding her hand only lasted for a brief moment. Then she drew her hand coyly back. Feeling her silken skin against his had made him feel alive. Her withdrawing was worse then death.

 

Was she just playing? Was she really shy? Did she like him? Was she appalled? Doubts were now marring his mind. And his aunt’s voice taunted him. Her shrill words were like a snakes hiss in his ears.

 

If you were a real man…

A woman wants to be swept of her feet…

Claim her, make her your own…

You are just a wimp…

I’ll make you were dresses, they fit a girl like you better than those pants…

Be a man, just this once…

 

He rose. He walked around the table. He kneeled before her. He was awed by her beauty. Her body was a weapon as deadly as a sword could be. She could kill with desire. Again he caught her hand, as if it was a rope to safety and he a man drowning.

 

“This might be sudden… maybe it comes unexpected for you… but… I… I meant what I said before. I can’t stand it any longer. Being with you… the most incredible young woman… is pleasure so strong, it is turning into pain.”

 

He realised he did not quite know what he wanted of her. Or did he not? He wanted her naked in his arms. He wanted to own her the way a man owned a woman in the moment they were one. But that was not all. Somehow she had sparked a twisted side in him. He wanted to own her, but he also wanted her to hurt him, as if the pain was a compensation for pleasure, as if the humiliation was a compensation for his inferiority.

 

“Beautiful pain.” He mumbled, staring at her, feeling rather lost in the depths of his troubled mind.

 

“You are like a perfect doll I want to call my own, to toy with day and night. You are like a blazing fire, and while I am just a moth that will burn on touch, there is nothing I want more. Just one touch of lips. My soul I’d give for that. I’d be your slave gladly.”

 

Lies! Such vicious lies. A kiss was no more than honing a blade. Why do the honing if a slash was not planned? Why strike, if a cut was not the goal? Why cut, if murder was not the prospective?

 

“I am too weak, relieve me of this pain.

The agony is numbing, please end this game.

The decision is yours. Send me of, into certain death.

Or grant one kiss, so I may keep my breath.”

 

He swallowed. “Call it madness. Call it desire. Call it love. I will do anything for you, Toulan. Anything.”

 

[Winter Mist]

~Toulan~

 

Beautiful pain?  Toulan smiled at him, her expression in fact not changing except on the inside.  She could sense his increasing pliability to any suggestion that Toulan made, or would make.  A few more lingering, meaningful looks and he would be attempting to wrap himself around her finger.  What an annoying thing he had said before though.  Was she some doll in his mind, a plaything that he could pick up and put down as he saw fit?  The smile faded momentarily, quickly put back into place but it never reached her eyes.

 

How dare he seek to own her?  This was some initial meeting, not a chance for him to claim her as a potential bride; some trophy of status or acclaim.  No, she would not have that.  He wanted a kiss in exchange for him being her willing slave?  Well, that was looking more likely.  Toulan laughed a small laugh, meant to take the sting out of the air, the tense silence had stretched on for longer than she had intended and she needed to shift his thinking back to her.  She toyed with her collarbone again, and watched him swallow as his gaze followed her gesture.

 

“You would like a kiss?”

 

He nodded.  Toulan rose.  She had not forgotten his comment about wanting to own her.  Nor had she forgotten that he had said about pain being beautiful… oh, he would find that out too.  Every eye followed her as she made her way around to the other side of the table, right next to Galtar.  She leant forward and kissed him, pressing her soft lips to his.  Toulan felt his body lean forward to meet her kiss and she shifted on the table, deliberately knocking over one of the crystal goblets.  It shattered on the wooden surface of the table and at the noise it made, Toulan pulled away and put her hand down in the glass.  She wedged a broken shard between her fingers, careful to avoid being cut, and then made a noise of dismay.

 

Galtar called over a maid, who made a big deal of cleaning up the broken crystal and a second maid placed a brand new goblet on the table.  Toulan made noises of apology and offers to reimburse the establishment.  Well, she amended to herself, Galtar would be paying the bill.  Noticing how crestfallen Galtar looked, Toulan sought to redeem the moment.  She laid a hand on his cheek, the hand with the glass palmed between her fingers.  The sharp edge sliced his cheek, and she felt the warmth of a small amount of his blood on her hand. 

 

“Oh!  I am so sorry!”  Toulan exclaimed with mock sincerity and dabbed at his face with a napkin.  That would teach him to consider her a doll.