Beloved Carnage

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Cain, Sep 24, 2015.

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  1. [​IMG]
    Based off of the new horror movie, Crimson Peaks.

    It begins with a simple rumor.

    A young man known for his sudden outburst of social status lurks around the day. He is accompanied by wise men. These wise men bear vast knowledge of their profession and the people surrounding them. They spoke of a rose - a soft crimson rose, a scent to allure, yet, the rose bore sharp thorns, and petals that hid poison. The Dark Mademoiselle, that was what everybody called her by. There was a horrendous rumor about her passed husband. There was blood splattered on the floor, walls, windows, and her porcelain skin. No one saw her done the devil's work, but they saw the end; a dead man and a crying widow. The wise men spoke to be wary of the woman, to never let her petals touch your heart.

    The young man chuckled and brushed it off.

    It was a night. Oh, a beautiful night. The dark sky was brightened with bright little flames. The sound of the orchestra was beautiful, people laughed and danced all night, and the chandeliers brightened the ballroom. The young man laughed jovially with his dance partner. As he danced in a circle with alacrity, his eye caught a woman from the darkness. The music began to roar and block out any words spoken that night. His eyes caught her once again - so mysterious, an enigma she was. Half her face was concealed with a mask. At the end of the song, he was lured into the woman's beauty. He asked her for her hand. Without a word was spoken from her side she took hold of his hand and led him to a never ending dance. The orchestra played their songs endlessly as he twirled her petite body. Shortly after their dance the young man has grown infatuated with the woman. Asked her sweetly to remove her mask. Reluctantly her fingertips pushed the mask upwards to reveal her identity - only to him. With that she giggled, leaving him alone. The wise men entered the stage with shock. One stuttered as he spoke as the other had his jaw open wide for the bugs to relocate.

    "T'was her! The Mademoiselle!"

    The day after the ball the young man begins to strive for the Mademoiselle. Every encounter acted out as a cat and mouse game. He played the ambitious cat as she played the clever mouse. Always able to dodge his attacks and giggle her way into the abyss. Only one day he caught her. That day, they grew intimate, little by little he felt endearment towards the woman.

    He felt his heart grow large and warm yet his surroundings grew cold.

    On a lovely morning, he was invited to her household. An ominous estate that brought an eerie tone, but, the young man brushed it off. Entering the estate, there was a cold air that brought his warm skin to freeze. He spoke nothing of it. He never opened his lips to mention the eyes that follow, the presence that haunted him, and the danger that followed behind him. The young man felt discouraged to return but continued for his love for the Mademoiselle. The months passed like rain and the Winter brought the two together in holy matrimony. Many have told the young man he was a fool to fall for a widow. They looked down upon him, but he ignored their warnings. The wedding was a quiet one. No one spoke and none dare to smile. There was an enraged presence that followed the Mademoiselle. It never affected her, instead it attacked the people amongst. It grew stronger as the young man began to inhabit the Mademoiselle's home.

    There's a presence that follows in rage.

    [​IMG]
    Veronica Marie Abrams | Benedict Wylie Paton
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    Matthew James Paton | The Wisemen
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    The Prologue
    ❝ A game between a Zealous Feline & the Clever Mouse. ❞
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  2. "Benedict?. . . Sir. Benedict?"

    A husky voice slipped past the barrier that was unconsciously built in the mind of the considerably young bachelor, who seemed to have his focus somewhere else, his eyes lost in the blend of people twirling, spinning, moving with sync and grace on the dancing floor. He blinked his eyes, once, twice, a third time just to shake his gaze away from the couples and get back to the conversation he seemed to have been having for longer than he expected. Meeting the grey-blue irises of some elderly man with a golden rimmed monocle over one eye, in a very elegant get-up in the color solid black, he stood a bit shorter than the bachelor, who stood at about 6 feet 2 inches. A slightest smile that shown with light embarrassment, the young man gave a simple nod, indicating to have the elderly man to go on, for to show he was listening to whatever the man had asked, although, he was not.

    "My sincere apologies, but, may you please repeat your inquire?"

    The elder man pushed up his monocle, "Why of course, young man, although, I do expect you to have been asked this question before. But, my curiosity is quite persistent, you see. How in God's Holy name, did you trade with the Eastern Foreigners? It is impossible to even imagine how they cooperated with us Westerners, for their resistant was that of a mere child!" His voice projectiled as he repeated the question to Benedict, causing any eavesdroppers to join on the fellow laughter that the elderly added after.

    In all realness, Benedict, the rising succession for Paton Foreign Trading Industry, the first ever successful, once freelance, entrepreneur company that not only successfully traded with an Eastern Country, but paired up with other big named trading companies to make this trade even possible. Needless to say, the twenty-two year old was already in the possession of enough money to keep his future family, even his own children future families stable if Paton Trading were to ever go out of business. Although, it is to early in the game to say the future of this rising industry, Benedict has the light shining on him now, and anyone and everyone is waiting to sink their claws into his successes.

    "You see, Sir. Brewster--"

    "Please, Benedict! Skip the formalities, call me Ackley!"

    Benedict nodded, forcing a friendly smile that hesitated a curl on his lips, "Yes, Ackley, you see, it is about combining companies, working together, collectively to reach a common goal. The only real struggle that I had to face alone was in the beginning, it is hard to trust the sharks that only want you for the money you have, and then leave you to sink in to unfathomable debt after it is all said in done. Half the time, any man that throws themselves into business without a back up will guarantee their unlikely death."

    "You don't say. . ." Sir Brewster added, a grey, untidy, eyebrow of his rising in growing question. "With all said in done, Benedict, with you surviving your leap of fate, and drowning in your successes, where do you see your industry going from here? Are you looking for more candidates to latch on to, or are you going to stick with your original lot? If you are willing to spread your wings, Benedict, I do have some connections that may be surely useful to you in the future."

    That question was the one question Benedict has been waiting for ever since he entered this Gala. Although it was to be expected, for he willingly threw himself into the ocean of money thirsting sharks, waiting to drag down any flesh blood with the potential of growing success. Basically, he willingly let himself be the bait for many men who have been waiting to sign the papers into partnership with countless loopholes, or, to all the men with their daughters who have been waiting to wed a man with money, power, and potential just to force upon a family business. There was no escaping the fact that this may be the night that either may happen, for many woman are waiting to blow out their candle, and many families are waiting for their next big break.

    Benedict, quite frankly, wasn't ready. "I-- Well.. You see, Sir. Brewster--"

    "Ah! Benedict! You dashing rascal!"

    Mid-sentence, he felt his Adams Apple hit the back of his throat in an unexpected, and quite rough, arm hook from a man Benedict could only imagine who it was.

    His hands grasping onto the fabric of the gentlemans coat, breathless sounding out words that were hopefully audible in this loud room. "M-Matthew. . . P-please. . . Can't breathe--" Released, after request, a roaring laugh blew his ear drum, causing the bachelor to grimace a bit in ringing pain, along with a rough pat on the mid of his back. "Could you be any more rough, Matthew?"

    Matthew James Paton, the cousin of Benedict Wylie Paton. He is a man of hard business, your typical man eating shark with the same greedy eyes Benedict has been trying to avoid this entirety of the night, although, Matthew is one of the companies Benedict partnered with, for it is wise to partner with family, for with family, it is hard to stab each other in the back when all is said and done. Despite the friendly, but yet, brutal greeting, Benedict was quite relieved to see his cousin has found him, and if things go according to his favor, Matthew will drag him away from this unanswerable question that loomed over his clueless head.

    "Ah, stop your howl Benny! I came to fetch the man in waiting for there is a woman I want you to meet! She is quite a looker, and not only that, she fancies you quite a bit."

    A faint pink rose to his cheeks, heaven forbid Matthew would refrain from childish nicknames in a professional setting, but to come to him because of a woman, he couldn't help but be even a little bit embarrassed. The heating bachelor looked over at Ackley Brewster, nodding before his departure. "This conversation will be on idle, until then, please enjoy your night. My apologies." Before hearing whatever was left to say from the other party, Benedict disappeared along side of his cousin into the sea of socializing, and dancing people of the night.

    Stopping their trek, and reaching a group of roaring, laughing, men, much like Matthew gathered around each other, telling stories, smoking rich smelling cigars, and sipping on whiskey. A bunch of wisemen sharing their secrets among friends. Matthew entered into the circle, pulling Benedict along with him.

    "Gentlemen! This is my cousin, you may know him as the young vicious shark in our world, but, his name is Benedict Wylie Paton."

    Many greeted him with friendly smiles, a raise of the glass, and a blow of unbearable scented smoke. Benedict responded with his usual sheepish grin, and hesitant nod of the head.

    "Now as I was saying, and Benedict," one wisemen began, chiming the new man into the gossiping conversation between men, "since you are a bachelor, you will have to listen to this, understood? For she, a rose - a soft crimson rose, a scent to allure, yet, the rose bore sharp thorns, and petals that hid poison. The Dark Mademoiselle, have you heard of her?"

    Benedict shook his head in complete confusion, although, there was interest in the way the words played in his mind. "I have not, who is this crimson rose?"

    "Well, that was what everybody called her by. There was a horrendous rumor about her passed husband. There was blood splattered on the floor, walls, windows, and her porcelain skin. No one saw her done the devil's work, but they saw the end; a dead man and a crying widow. Although a sight for sore eyes, she is a beauty and even the beast itself!" The man looked at Benedict with serious eyes, for the mood turned heavy on the young bachelors shoulders. "Be wary of the Dark Mademoiselle, and never let her petals touch your heart."

    There was a lump in his throat, for his words seemed eerie, and unpleasant of a woman he never heard before, nor ever seen. But despite the warning, despite the fact that she was a widow, and by standards of tradition, no man should ever go after a widow, none that, a non-virgin, she sounded like forbidden fruit, the type of fruit Benedict would, and doe secretly lust for.

    #913131 \\ #53608a
     
    #2 Taichou, Sep 25, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 1, 2015
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  3. The Dark Mademoiselle; Veronica M. AbramsThe carnage of many piled up in a dark room. Dark to where the sunlight will be consumed in the darkness. In her dark eyes, she remembered the faces of many men that died. The successful banker died from a simple glance at her, the bakers boys head was decapitated for grazing her shoulder, and the many more that died in gruesome and explicable ways. The past furthered into a bright sunny day. Her father visited England for a week bringing her and her mother. She was a lovely young woman of fourteen years. Her red hued lips, dark doe eyes, long lashes that fluttered like wings, and fair porcelain skin. She was a Frenchwoman who enjoyed her young life and drunk up compliments like sweet tea. It was that sunny day where her father was brought into a meeting with the India Trade company. There she was sat out drinking tea with a group of middle-aged women chatting about daily gossip. Veronica had her mind in a daze. She could distinctly remember each thought she had that day. She knew well that all her thoughts came to an end when a tall handsome man walked up to the table. All eyes were on him, her’s was unable to pull away.

    That was when she met him. Edwin Abrams, a powerful man who lurked around in London’s for the beginning of his life. He was a desirable bachelor among the bachelorette. After that day, Edwin found himself chasing after Veronica like a mouse. Eventually, the two were wedded after a year. He grew obsessive over the young woman and killed a man who laid eyes on her. The killings started after her sixteenth birthday party. She grew into a beautiful woman men would least expect. Edwin killed many out of jealousy, the bodies began to pile in the basement. The scent was pungent. It brought all the servants and maids to flee the estate. Veronica’s memory began to deplete when it attempted to recall the murder of her husband. She shook her head and bit her lower lip. Her teeth bit down on her lower lips hard to bring out the crimson red. She was livid for a moment - her fists balled up, nails dug into her soft skin, and her body tensed up. A warm touch brought her shoulders to relax and her teeth to release her lower lip. Veronica exhaled softly.

    A bump in the rocky road had her eyes wide, surprised. She sighed softly, her fingers fumbled around with the sleek black mask. Her dark eyes examined the sleek black mask; there was grey lace on top of the mask that's accompanied by small embellishments. Her dainty fingers brought the mask up to her dark eyes. The silky ribbon tied tightly behind her head, secured and snug. The corner of her left eye turned upwards, which placed a grin on her lips. Playful and mysterious, like she was ten years ago. She glanced at the window of her black carriage to see the new estate that stood tall and bright. There were two men outside the front waiting for late guests. Veronica felt the carriage slow down as the horses released a loud neigh. The carriage came to a gradual stop. She heard the heavy thud on the rocky ground. The rocks were grinding against the ground as the rider made their way to the door. Veronica straightened her posture when the door opened. The concealed face of the rider held their hand out to her. She took the hand, crouching half her body to exit the carriage.

    Her dress touched the ground before her shoes. As both feet touched the ground she held up her obsidian dress. The gown was dragged each step, picking up the dirt. Veronica walked up the stairs and into the hallway. She was well-aware of her lack of a companion. She couldn’t recall why she was invited to the ball. Many have disliked her for her husband’s killings and her status. Throughout her years of being hated by many she grew a thick skin. Each word that was spoken negatively at her was unable to penetrate her heart. She welcomed those insults as an old friend of hers. At the end of the hallways, there was the muffled sound of music playing. The doors opened at the sight of her. The large ornate doors opened up widely for her. Her dark eyes watched as people gathered in small factions. She could hear familiar voices that used to insult her. Veronica stood in the back, being observant. The people who surrounded her was unable to notice the quiet woman.

    Veronica observed the gawking men and the women giggling. Plenty of men and women met each other flirtatious. She watched people communicate and allowed the boredom to consume her. Before she was able to nod off, there was a voice. “Mademoiselle.” A title she’s grown fond of. She turned her head to the source of the voice. An aged man; salt and pepper hair styled, a bronze aging skin tone, and a kind expression painted on his face. Veronica lowered her head slightly. “I am surprised you came. I’ve had my doubts.” His voice faded into a soft sigh.

    “Well, I was hesitant to show up but I decided to grace your carouse.” She looked up at the man, flashed him an arrogant smirk. The older man lets out a hearty laugh. “Arrogant I see,” He stated in a joking manner. “Is there a reason why I'm needed? I’m a murderer and a defiled widow.” She smiled, putting up the front that she was proud. “Well,” The older man began. Her dark eyes rolled condescendingly. “Your fortunes are extremely large, large enough to buy out the city of London.” A known fact that Edwin would’ve adored hearing. Compliments fed his ego and forced him to become narcissistic. “And my family is quite fortunate ourselves and so you see,” Her body language implied she was uninterested. She placed weight on her right leg and her arms crossed. Her dark eyes looked up at the man. He began to look more like a fool than he was a man. “My son there, Andrew,” The old man pointed at a lanky young man. He had awkward posture and stood in a circle of men who gawked at women. Veronica looked up at the old man who grunted. “In spite of his, comings, he’s my successor. I want him to be with a woman who can support him and pleasure him.”

    There was a lump in her throat and the word, pleasure, that made her froze for a moment. She regained herself after a short second. “I find myself too bounded with the past to move on. Six years isn’t enough to heal the broken heart Sir Wayne.” The false melancholy in her voice caused the man to scoff impolitely.

    The conversation succumbed to a silence where she was able to hear the change in songs. A traditional song a man and woman would dance too. The people began to shift into their desired and partners and begun to dance. Sir. Wayne faded into the crowd till he was no longer visible to her eye. She watched as they danced in bliss - shared words of secrets in each other's ears. A beloved meeting between two hearts. Her dark eyes watched the pairs dance into oblivion. Her eyes jumped from one pair to another till they stopped at one man. A dark-haired man, a pallor skin tone, prominent cheekbones, and a lean body. She found herself staring at the man too long. Veronica was unable to peel her eyes away - she was too intrigued with the man. Never have she spoken to the man nor does she bear any knowledge of the man. Her dark eyes observed the man’s action and took notable features to her memory.

    She had no expression painted on her face, only her eyes could speak the unspoken words.

    Curious she was.

    #666699
     
    #3 Cain, Sep 26, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 1, 2015
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  4. It didn't take long for one of the already tipsy men to put a small chilled glass of whiskey in Benedict's oversize slender hand. His fingers held it loosely, twirling it in small circular motions, watching the broth colored liquid mix in with the ice cubes. The bachelor wasn't much of a drinker, and you would never catch him with any kind of tobacco between his teeth, it was distasteful, for his father was quite fond of abusing both poisonous delicacies while he was growing up. He stood in silence, gazing into his still full glass, fading in to the various conversations that were happening all around him, in the little circle- but, of course, none were as interesting enough to keep Benedict intrigued. His mind was spinning, surrounding his complete attention on the story of this so called Dark Mademoiselle, he couldn't help but practically fantasize over what beauty held in her mysterious being. Images of her held in his mind, but no matter what woman came to mind, that did in fact hold beauty in his account, none seemed to compare to the crimson petals that went along with deadly thorns that had pricked Benedict's curiosity.

    'Was she here tonight?'

    Benedict raised his gaze away from the melting ice, switching to the center of the Gala, the bodies of dancing couples were tremendous, for a traditional song came about that everyone knew the dance too. It was a sort of foreign waltz, elegant, quite sensual compared to your typical dance. The men stopped what they were doing, even Benedict's own cousin, Matthew, set aside his drink to find a beautiful maiden to hold in his arms for this particular dance. He was alone now, holding his perspiring glass with his freezing finger tips. An inhale winded past his lips, his shoulders raising in stiffness as he held his breath. His wandering eyes followed as his blonde, overly charming cousin spun around with some young brunette woman with heavy eye make up, a tight bright pink gown, and bright pink lip stain. Benedict could see the way Matthew looked at this woman, that he was lusting over her unique beauty, he even proclaimed it by the way he whispered in her ear, and the promiscuous smirk she gave in response. Sweet nothings were between the odd couple, and Benedict could see right through it all .

    How distasteful.

    Averting his eyes, forcing a small sip of whiskey to swish in his mouth for the time being, the dark iris's searched the room, observing faces upon faces of both men and women- until, it stopped at one that was looking directly at him. A woman, a woman with light snow blonde hair, done up in gorgeous eloquence, her skin glowed of porcelain, causing her dark eyes to pierce far, and deep into his very soul. She wore a black gown, that complimented her complexion, she was different than any other woman in this room who wore bright, light, and frilly colors- but to Benedict, she was absolutely stunning.

    The bachelor was captivated, his heart thumped in his chest, it was almost hard to breathe. She had charm, a sense of uniqueness. As if she was the only forbidden rose in a field of undesirable daisies. A flower that Benedict just had to pick among the rest. Lust drove him to set the glass down, and swallow the remaining whiskey that sat on his tongue until it was lukewarm, his curiosity is what pulled him towards the crimson rose in black.

    For each long stride he took, every sound that echoed through out the room, originally making it so loud that it was hard to even hold a personal thought in mind, Benedict was able to drown it out. Everything was a mirage around him, blurring and meshing together into rapid changing colors, for the only clear thing was his captivator. Unknowingly walking through the crowd of pairs that were departing from one another, for the dance was over- there was a sense of eyes that watched the back of his head as he pass through the couples, but, there was nothing sharp enough to penetrate the focus Benedict that had created a wall against everyone else, even his own cousin who called out to him, while holding the swoon daisy in his arms.

    It wasn't long until the once room length distance between the two, was now cut short to a foot of him standing before the woman. She was surprisingly petite, and dainty to the hand, that held an expressionless canvas of a face that was accompanied by a black mask that framed her eyes, but there was a sharp edge to her dark eyes as she looked up at Benedict, who could hear his own heart beat pound through his ears. He wanted to say it, he wanted to tell her the truth, the moment he laid his eyes on this mystery woman that wore the mask, he wanted her to be his. A sense of urge clouded his mind, for her beauty was enough to make him go on one knee and ask for her hand that very moment. Love at first sight, is what it is called, but many men called it lust at first sight, which wasn't that far from the truth, in Benedict's case.

    He took in a swift breath, a natural grin curled on the corner of his pale pink lips, before his voice, that slipped off his tongue like velvet, spoke, "Good evening, my lady, may I ask you a question," Benedict paused, lifting his hand in between the space of the masked beauty, and himself, before continuing, "by any chance, are you accompanied by anyone on this evening?" His fingers rolled out, leaving an opening for her hand to to accept his. "If not, would you care to have this dance with me?"

    The orchestra slowly eased into a ballroom waltz tone, it was soft, and gentle, yet slow, and filled with potential romance. It was the song that would bring these two new souls hopefully together.

    #913131
     
    #4 Taichou, Sep 28, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 1, 2015
    • Love Love x 1
  5. The Dark Mademoiselle; Veronica M. AbramsDark orbs widened at the encounter of another pair of bright eyes. She reverted to her original disposition and sent the man a smile. She gingerly turned her head away from the man and kept her attention elsewhere. Her eyes observed the surroundings to the right to see people conjoined to pairs dancing to a song she wasn't familiar with. An eloquent song with a sensual element that ushered the smell of lust in the air. A familiar scent, another friend she welcomed with open arms. She closed her eyes as she turned her head to its original position. Her dark eyes opened up to see the man she had her eyes on. His once small figure grew bigger, taller, closer. Veronica's countenance shifted, leaning towards a more surprised expression. She dared not to release her poised expression for a man. She mustered up the strength to relax her facial expression and simply painted a small smile on her crimson-hued lips.

    There was a moment where time froze. She could never recall a time where a man other than Edwin approached her. Her fingertips twitched for a touch, for a second or two. Eager she was to speak to the man - the words hovered over her lips. Prepared for this encounter, but, was reluctant. There was always something that chained her urges, bounded her tightly, strong hands that mimicked cold heavy chains. Her hands were clasped together over the skirt of her dress. She heard the music roar loudly into her ears. The climax of the song had every male raise their dance partners in the air. Was it then she realized the distance between her and the man shrunk. There was an emotion, anxious and eager she was. She was intrigued with the man simply by his appearance. Veronica wasn't opposed to sharing a song with the man and exchange a few words.

    The chains felt tighter tonight.

    The music gradually fell into its last chorus. That was when their distance was just a mere few inches. She looked up at the man, he was a tall and lanky man. She forced herself to tilt her head slightly up to meet eye to eye. In the background, she could hear others call for the man's attention but he kept his attention on her. Veronica appreciated the attention she was given. The music came to a complete finish and a new one began to play - an amorous song began to play as each violin string was strung conjuring a lovely melody. When his lips opened the words flowed smoothly into her ears. She didn't respond back to him, she simply watched his movements. He stepped back once, lowered his upper body, and uncurled his fingers. A small smirk implied that she was amused. Without a word spoken on her end, her dainty hand was placed on top of his. A perfect fit.

    The song that played had only begun, which left her to lead the unnamed man into the dance floor. She took his hand and gracefully walked into the dance floor. Veronica waited for the song to leave an opening for them to dance in-sync with the other pairs. Once the song entered the bridge of she began to move her feet and body. The music played softly enough to fit small talk. "What a strange man you are. Dancing with someone like myself, haven't they told you?" She spoke in an alluring voice. She wanted to pull on his heartstrings to push her luck with the man. It was always a game to win the affection of the one she wanted. She was saddened, unable to play this game only once. Among the pairs that danced in the dance floor, there was a superfluous amount of people who begun to whisper. The whispers filled her ears and the ballroom. However, she ignored all the whispers and focused on the man.

    "The horrendous stories about a murdered man," Her petite body was twirled around and separated from the man's clutch. Once joining the man again, she continued to speak. "Blood stains on marble floors and porcelain skin, tragic." She let out a soft giggle. It was an intoxicating laugh that brought eyes at her direction. The stares left no trace of discomfort to her. She grew accustomed to the stares when she was younger. "But, that is a story for another day. Who am I sharing this song with?" She queried. Her eyes scanned the man's facial structure and general appearance. There was no familiarity nor was there a shred of remembrance. Veronica could only name a few successful people within London's society and this man was mysterious to her. The mystery of the man attracted her further, but she was never the one to implore a man. She played a vague game only she knew well.

    The pairs that danced around them had their eyes on them. A few whispered an inquiry of the woman's identity. The sleek black mask concealed her identity and her voice was unknown to the society. Many were infatuated and only a few knew who she was. The rumors slowly spilled like an infectious disease. Her title was spoken in a hushed tone, the Dark Mademoiselle. Her thoughts queried whether her dance partner heard the whispers or did she simply had a keen sense of hearing. She preferred to believe the latter. The whispers grew softer as the song began to play louder. Her eyes glanced over at the orchestra where the conductors movements grew aggressive and powerful. His movements were rigid and stringent, completely opposite from the musicians. Her eyes returned to the man, but, her ears fell for the music. She could hear every single instrument, the sweet melodic sounds were infused to her brain.

    It drowned over the whispers and brought her sanctuary. It kept her away from the whispers, her safe haven. By the sudden safety, her hand gripped faintly tighter when she spun around. Her dress hovered a centimeter off the ground.

    The chains gradually loosened, but she yearned to be free.
     
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  6. The moment her hand slipped into his, it was as if the palm of his own was meant for hers to be placed in, like a missing puzzle piece he didn't know was lost, found its way back into his possession. The feeling behind it all was mysterious, the moment she silently accepted the invitation with slow risen smirk, to the moment where he was lead onto the dance floor under her conduct. His hand rounded at the dip of her waist, following a gentle path that ended at the mid of her lower back, feeling the soft fabric of her black colored gown as his hand traveled. The music played a soft tune, the orchestra creating a melody that he could not recall, but it wasn't long until it was all drowned out by his full attention on this masked woman. It became hard for Benedict to know who was leading this waltz, and who was just going along with the steps the other left. Twirling, and gliding across the floor, it felt as if his legs were made of air, simple clouds floating, as he was dragged by this intriguing woman. Their steps were in sync, their turns were precisely timed, this pair was the sight on the dance floor.

    What a strange man you are. Dancing with someone like myself, haven't they told you?

    The horrendous stories about a murdered man,

    Her voice was mesmerizing, with charm wrapped in with every word that followed after the other. He couldn't help but tick his head to the side, an inquiring look falling on his expression before he released the delicate bodied woman from his clutching hold into a graceful spin, before pulling her back into his arms, where her body seemed to unite perfectly with his mold.

    Blood stains on marble floors and porcelain skin, tragic.

    Blood stains on marble floors and porcelain skin, a murdered man, followed along with a horrendous story- these elements spun in his head with a sense of familiarity. He heard these words before, but his memory, it was failing him for the lust of this woman's alluring eyes captivated him fully, blocking out the possibilities of significance these words had. Benedict let a grin play on his lips as the topic was dropped before he could even muster up a answer.

    "I am a simple man, my dear. Not enough to impress a woman of such grace, as yourself," Benedict paused, adding in one more twirl of his rose, before bringing her back once more in his tight hold, beginning again, "But, ladies first. May I ask for your name?" There was a sense of playfulness when they would exchange utterance with each other, dripped with hints of flirtation, but interest in one another masked it to make it seem like simple small talk during their dance.

    There was a sense of heaviness that was weighing in on Benedict's shoulders, it was unknown. It was like there was something small, creeping up his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, the only instinct he had to counter this feeling was to raise his head to break the chemistry both him and his partner shared in their gaze. His instinct wasn't wrong, there was indeed something that made the air in the room dense, all eyes were on the two, watching as they merged together in circular motions on the dance floor. They were whispering to one another in closed hand, the orchestra was to loud for Benedict to even try and catch at least one word to see what was all the urgency about.

    An eyebrow raised in question, as he decided to cease his curiosity, and let the stares and secrecy be. His dark eyes returned back to the ones framed in black. Her hand squeezed his, it was small, warm in his palm. She acted as if she was completely normal, as if the people looking, staring, and obviously whispering and gossiping over the two, weren't even there. This carefree feeling she gave off, made it seem as if they were the only two people in the room, for the whispers were drowning in the melody of the music.

    He couldn't take his eyes off of her, she was simply a work of art the way her glistening blonde colored hair curled around her face, as the two spinned around, fast enough that the outside world blurred together. There was gentleness to the way she showed her elegance, and Benedict was surely falling in love with it.

    "You are beautiful, my lady, I must know your name," his voice showed a brief of burning dire, but he couldn't helped it. This woman, who ever she was, who ever she may be, grabbed a hold of something within this young bachelor, and she certainly knew what she was doing to make him feel the desire to have her particulars, "who are you, my crimson colored rose?" There was longing question in his tone as he gazed into her dark eyes, that were shining in the gleam of the warm colored chandelier, with beauty enough to take his breath away.
     
    #6 Taichou, Sep 30, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 1, 2015
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  7. The Dark Mademoiselle; Veronica M. AbramsPersistent.

    A word that formed in her mind as she danced with the unnamed man. She responded with a simple smirk, looked down at the floor for a second. Their movements were in-sync. As he pulled her away into a twirl she was pulled back leading the game once more. The nostalgic feeling of tugging on heartstrings was vigorous and enjoyable. To his response she raised a brow. Surprised she was within - the rumors spread too quickly throughout London, there isn't a soul left that was ignorant. Veronica chuckled when he inquired for a name. Her chuckle was intoxicating, it filled the room matching the orchestra's song. The curious man he was brought out the playful woman she was.

    In spite of the whispers that filled the ballroom to the brim, she built a wall between her dance and society. It was a game she played with the man. She found herself in the game that every pair plays; the woman giggles at the man's words, lures the man with a bat of the eye and a whisper, the man inquires the woman endlessly, eventually the song will end and they are left with the night. Nevertheless, this game will end when the song ends. The chains will tighten once again and she will continue her life within the Abrams estate. A melancholy thought it was. It began to ruin the evening, taintedthe dance with sadness. She bit her tongue to deter herself from the negatives. Her dark orbs looked up at the unnamed man. When she looked up into his eyes his head tilted up, which broke their stare.

    Her petite body was pulled away for a long twirl. She watched as her surroundings merged together. Before she could witness her surroundings revert to its original form she was pulled in. Her body closer to his. She felt warmth radiate from his body - the warmth she missed. The night ushered out departed memories. Veronica could not lie to herself, she enjoyed the night. The mysterious, unnamed man brought out the love she had forgotten.

    His voice inquired for her name once again, this time his tone grew more urgent. Veronica did not allow herself to let her name be known to an unnamed man. "Curious aren't you?" She laughed softly. The amusement the man mustered out of her marshaled an incredulous expression. "Your ignorance is sweet Sir," She complimented. His ignorance was a novelty to her, something rare within London's society. She wondered if he was acting coy, she was a guarded woman. "If you truly are ignorant I shall tell you what I am," She said.

    The song gradually came to its last verse. The violin's overpowered all the instruments playing its melancholy solo. The dances pace eased. The pairs were to have their hands against each others, to walk in a circle, their eyes met. Veronica's dainty hands placed themselves against the unnamed man's long hands. They walked in a circle, her dark eyes focused on his. She refused to break the gaze. The melody grew quieter, the soft instruments began to play their solo. The finalchorus is soon to struck, the words she wished to speak hovered over her lips. The whispers grew louder and her movements eased as the songs pace eased. She made her way closer to the unnamed man. They were simply a few inches apart. She felt his body heat radiated on her cold skin. A coquettish countenance gracefully made an entrance on her pretty face. Her foot lifted her body up an inch closer to his face. Her lips close to his ears almost grazed against his earlobe.

    "Call me, Mademoiselle."

    The song picked up its pace and she pulled herself away from the unnamed man. The dance continued - her body was pulled in close, then she was pulled away from the man to simply return into his arms. Each chance she was given she took it to look up at his eyes. The playfulness in her eyes shifted into an inviting message. Although the song came to its end on the last strum of the instrument. She separated herself from the man and curtsied. She slowly rose to her poised posture and gave the man one last smile before her departure.

    "I hope to be given a name the next time we encounter."

    She turned away, entered the large crowd that swallowed her whole. The crowd began to disperse as a simple song began to play. The soiree continued on, it was much more lively after she left. Veronica walked through the elongated hallway that seemed shorter than the first time. When she exited the estate she felt a wind that engulfed her dainty body. The nights winds stole her body warmth freezing her body inside out. At the time she entered the carriage she hoped to see the unnamed man, one more. Just to know his name.

     
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  8. Ignorance. Was he truly that ignorant?

    That word, it played off her tongue with a sense of familiarity to it. Frankly, Benedict couldn't help but forge a confused expression, he didn't get it, he didn't understand how there was ignorance in his question to know this young woman's name. Was she known by everyone, but him? What was her reputation that Benedict failed to have heard? What was he missing?

    Maybe he truly is that ignorant.

    As the two circled each other, hand on hand, Benedict wanted to further his questioning, just to know what this woman was made of, and why was her name something to be known of, but, the music, it was quickening to the end of its last verse, indicating that Benedict's time with this woman in black, although it was a short meeting, was indeed, coming to a close. Even if the young bachelor asked her to stay, he already knew, by the way she spoke, the way her crimson painted lips curved, and curled, she would decline his offer, and if he knew any better, he would probably never see his beautiful rose, with deadly thorns, ever again.

    The music stopped only for a moment, as if he silenced it, silenced the world itself when the mysterious woman brought herself closer to Benedict. His heart pounded aggressively against his chest, as the space between the two's bodies was provocative. His dark eyes meet hers framed with black, her lips formed a smirk that caused the young man's heart to simply stop, as he held his breath. His ear tickled by the cold breathe that softly blew on it by her red lips.

    Call me, Mademoiselle.

    Everything faded back in full force, the music picked up, and the air winded back into his lungs as the two began to dance once more, bring her into his arms one last time. One more twirl, one more squeeze of her delicate hand within his, and one more gaze in her playfully flirtatious eyes. Benedict was at lost of words. He didn't know left from right, up from down, or where he was anymore and who was around him. All he knew was the color of the eyes that looked up at him from time to time, alluring his thoughts, replacing everything that ever mattered, and filled it with the sight of her own beauty. It was all he knew. The way her body curved in this black gown, the way her soft curls framed her face and twirled whenever she was spun, the way her full red painted lips moved when she spoke, smile, and grinned in amusement. Everything about her, was all Benedict could think about, but all he actually knew was that she was, Mademoiselle.

    Mademoiselle. That name, it was familiar. He heard of it before. But where?

    Before Benedict even knew it, the music stopped, and she stepped away, out of his arms. She curtsied, and he bowed in returning respects.

    I hope to be given a name the next time we encounter.

    "Will I ever see you again?" He spoke, as he lifted his head, but to his surprise, the woman who was refereed as the Mademoiselle, was gone before his very own eyes. Swallowed in the crowd of noblemen and beautiful woman who seemed to have their sight followed in the path of the vanishing Mademoiselle. Benedict stood there, a sense of emptiness lingering over his ceasing beating heart. The woman that captivated his entire being, was gone, only leaving images of her beauty with him, with no guarantee of when he would be graced with it again. The world was quiet, for the orchestra began to set up for its next song, the only thing that filled the young man's ears, was the whispers of both the men and women.

    A firm hand grabbed at Benedict's shoulder, causing him to jump and whip his head around to see his cousin, Matthew, standing there with an expression of shock that pierced Benedict with a hint of fear.

    "What is it, Matthew?"

    "Benedict... That woman, do you know who she was?"

    He looked at his cousin, his eyebrows furrowed together at the question, not really understanding the question, because the matter of the fact was, he didn't know who she was, from the beginning to the end, Benedict did not know who this woman was. "No," he began calmly, before turning his head back to the path where he last saw his rose walk away, "but, I must know who she is."

    It was like he was bewitched, as if a spell was casted to make him act so reckless, only for a woman he had just met. He departed from his cousin, leaving him there, his family that held an expression, that Benedict had thought he would never see before on the typically nonchalant man, he left and didn't dare to look back. He pushed pass the crowd, speaking soft apologies as he maneuvered, and bumped into many bodies. His strides were long, and anxious once he broke free from the herd of people, out into the empty hallway that seemed as if it went on for forever, as he made his way straight to the entrance, that was now his exit. Greeted unwantedly by a gust of cold winter wind, his eyes searched frantically on the lowly lit night for a carriage that waited at bay for its owner to take refuge from this freezing winters evening.

    "There you are, Mademoiselle."

    There was a sole carriage that was idling, before setting off on the cobble stoned road away from the grand mansion that held this ball. Benedict deepened his lightly dressed body into the cold, feeling the wind gust through his trousers, his jacket that hugged the white dress shirt, and his leather shoes, that he didn't bother putting on thick socks with, although, he greatly regretted it now.

    "Wait!" Benedict shouted, as his lips cracked from the bitter cold of night, feeling the tips of his noes, ears, and fingers sting in pain as he approached the coachman of the carriage. "Please, forgive me, but this woman, I must speak to her quickly before she departs, it will only take a moment." The coachman looked at him, who also was also in the pain of this biting chill, with a nod of his head, Benedict nodded his head back in a silent thank you before going to the door of the carriage, and opened it, his eyes meeting the darkness that filled the carriage, and the body that was withheld in it.

    "Benedict," the young bachelor began, his voice held urgency, but, with a couple heaving breathes later, he began once more. "Benedict Wylie Payton, is my name, Mademoiselle. And although I do not know your name now, I don't want to know it now, either. I will be waiting for our next encounter, and I will be looking for your name when that day comes. I pray to God, it will be soon." Benedict worked up a small smile, although his voice was shaking, and every word that came out held its own breathe of hot air that appeared in front of him, there was a sense of calm that waved over him. "I am eager to know who you are, Mademoiselle, for I can't help but think there is more to you than your alias. But until then, goodnight." with his parting words, he closed the door, not wanting to hear what the woman had to say after that, for he left everything in the hands of fate, for his questions will be answered in their next meeting in their untold future.

    His hand held on to the handle, until forcefully released as the carriage took movement into the night. He watched in silence, feeling the cold hit his body once more until he had no choice but to turn and retreat back into the building to warm his body up, and try not to face death in the face.

    Reaching the ballroom once more, feeling the heat sting at his chilling bones. He stood by the grand fire that kept everything lit, and warm in the grand room. He stood there, facing the fire, watching as the flame danced in silence, for his mind was only filled of the mystery lady, the woman in black, his rose with dark colored thorns.
     
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  9. Chapter One
    ❝ His appearance riled up a jealous phantom. ❞
    [​IMG]
     
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