POETRY WRITING Red Balloon Melodies - Pahn's Box

Discussion in 'SHOWCASING' started by Pahnini, May 2, 2016.

  1. [​IMG]

    Contents — Poetry, creative writing, acrylic paintings.
    Artist — Pahn
    Why Red Balloon Melodies? — Mostly just reminiscent of my first blog in '07
    New content? Possibly!

    I've recently re-found some old (2007) blogs I had when I was a teenager, on which I put a lot of my art and poetry. I was pretty much of the "emo" phase I suppose, but it was a rough period for me. I suffered from depression, self-mutilation, isolation, and emotional abuse. Read at your own risks, I suppose ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

    The first part will feature my old stuff. Almost all of my poetry will be translated from French to English - it might sound a bit off, but I'll be putting the original there for those who are interested.

    Also, I write free-form poetry that usually don't even rhyme. Honestly? I kinda hate forced-rhyming poetry.

    Some drawings / paintings will have terrible quality as they were taking in 2007-2008 without a camera phone or a scanner, but a good ole digital camera.
  2. A Family of Ghosts
    August 2007

    The ghosts fly away in a deafened melody
    They've forgotten me, leaving me behind
    As if they they knew it, but I'm ignorant of it all
    Sarcasm wraps around me, and I smile

    The picture frame breaks and the heart explodes
    As the night, the ghosts are silent
    A grudge eats me but what can I do?
    If everything started over like before, and him?

    Should I forgive them and forget it all
    Or should hatred remain as my poison?
    Questions reaping more questions...
    But what happens with the answers?

    Crowned silence, and the ghosts applaud
    I'm the only puppet of this show
    So how can I explain to myself this family portrait
    When I do not even belong in it?


    Les fantômes s'envolent dans la mélodie sourde
    Ils m'oublient, me laissent derrière eux
    Comme s'ils le savaient, mais moi j'ignore tout
    Le sarcasme m'enveloppe et je souris

    Le carde de la photo se brise et le coeur éclate
    Comme la nuit, les fantômes sont silencieux
    Je leur en veux mais que puis-je faire?
    Si tout recommençait comme avant, et lui?

    Dois-je leur pardonner et tout oublier
    Ou est-ce que la haine doit rester pour m'empoisonner?
    Des questions, toujours des questions...
    Mais qu'arrive-t-il aux réponses?

    Silence courronnée, et les fantômes applaudissent
    Je suis la seule marionnette de cette scène
    Alors comment m'expliquer cette photo de famille
    Si je n'y appartient même pas?

  3. The Doll of Time
    August 2007

    The verbal platitudes of my puppets tire me
    I am no longer their ventriloquist, I abandon myself
    He takes my place, too cold to understand
    The ice is already leaking in my eyes

    For too long, he forces me to forget
    But I just keep remembering more and more
    Do I really know all, really all of it?
    Is this the moment where the unforgivable isn't anymore?

    My doll has abandoned me, the dirty rag
    I no longer wanted her, but see how she left
    This bitter thing that I have become
    When she only wanted to save me, I stabbed her...

    I know it's too late, but the time has stopped
    Incorrectly, it reaches its paradox as it looks at me
    Am I in my world, where imagination no longer reigns...
    Like the ice in my eyes, reality makes me coldly distant...


    Les platitudes verbales de mes pantins me fatiguent
    Je n'en suis plus la ventriloque, je m'abandonne
    Il prend ma place, trop froid pour comprendre
    La glace coule déjà dans mes yeux

    Depuis trop longtemps, il me force à oublier
    Mais je ne fais que me remémorer encore plus
    Est-ce que je sais tout, vraiment tout?
    Est-ce que le moment est venu où l'impardonnable le sera ?

    Ma poupée m'a abandonné, cette sale chose
    Je n'en voulait plus, mais voilà qu'elle est partie,
    Cette chose amère que je suis devenue,
    Elle voulait me sauver, mais je ne l'aie que poignardé...

    Je sais qu'il est trop tard, mais il n'avance plus le temps
    Incorrectement, il atteint son paradoxe en me regardant
    Suis-je dans mon monde, l'imagination ne règne plus...
    Comme la glace dans mes yeux, la réalité me rends froidement distante...

  4. The Mirror of Shadows
    November 2007

    Once again, my blood tears fall, and I can't stop them from falling.
    They go further, further down my cheek and onto my chin.
    They flow, and go across my throat.
    Finally, they've reached my bloodied heart.
    I know it is more of something, but what is it?
    My black and white reflection is fading away, and it becomes dark red once again...
    Before becoming completely translucent.
    I failed.
  5. Raining in Me
    October 2007

    The rain continues to fall,
    Even with all the torn umbrellas
    Tip, tip, tip, tip...
    I am drowning within my dripping face

    The remorses are still here too
    Like flamboyant dresses, they are imprinted in our minds
    My fingers drum on the clouds as I listen to thunder
    I scream... but no, I roar

    I tear away my own skin, selling it to the lonesome
    With the ignorance of my fate in my hands
    Cry, repressive little vermin
    They don't see your tears in this thunderous rain

    My fears stand firmly before me
    I know I must face them, in this rain so heavy
    Just like tears in the rain, I become invisible
    Just like the sun behind clouds, I stand stripped alone

    La pluie continue de tomber,
    Même avec tous les parapluies déchirés
    Tip, tip, tip, tip...
    Je me noie dans mon visage d'eau

    Les remords sont encore là eux aussi
    Comme les robes flamboyantes, ils nous restent à l'esprit
    Je tambourine sur les nuages en écoutant le tonnere
    Je cris... mais non, je hurle

    J'arrache ma propre peau, la vendant aux solitaires
    Avec l'ignorance de mon sort entre les mains
    Pleur, petite grenouille régressée
    On ne voit pas tes larmes sous la pluie tonitruante

    Mes peurs se dressent devant moi
    Je dois leur faire face, dans cette pluie si lourde
    Comme les larmes dans la pluie, je m'invisible
    Comme le soleil derrière les nuages, je me cache à nue

  6. A Remedy to Forget
    December 2007

    I do not know anymore, I do not want to know
    Ignorance is a vile self-indulgent sin
    But in ignorance I am happy
    Bottle of vodka, help me to forget

    The cries are never-ending
    Even if my doll keeps consoling me
    I want to let my mask fall, however thick it is
    I can no longer hold out on this staged life

    Naughty little smile, trousers unbuttoned
    The need is there without the will, the pleasure
    My ears yearn only for those words
    Must I truly get so low to hear them?

    I do not want to know anymore, but it's too late
    Ideas fly out like headless arrows
    The Forgetfulness slips down my throat
    And the red balloons burst into the wind...

    Je ne sais plus, je ne veux plus savoir
    L'ignorance est l'ignoble péché de soi
    Mais dans l'ignorance je suis heureuse
    Bouteille de vodka, aide-moi à oublier

    Les pleurs n'en finissent plus
    Même si ma poupée continue de me consoler
    Je veux laisser tomber mon masque, si épais soit-il
    Je n'en suis plus capable de cette mise en scène

    Petit sourire coquin, pantalons détachés
    Le manque y est sans la volonté, le plaisir
    Mes oreilles ne veulent que ces mots
    Mais dois-je me mettre si bas pour les entendre?

    Je ne veux pas savoir, mais il est trop tard
    Les idées volent comme des flèches sans ailes
    Les oublieurs coulent dans ma gorge
    Et les ballons rouges pètent au vent...

  7. A Child's Dream
    May 2016

    Thy hands of thorns
    Desperately grasping, clutching
    Leaving roads of crimson
    For the child, thy kin, to bear

    Masqueraded playgrounds in summer
    Dusk hiding the seeking heart
    Blinded by kindness til dawn
    Withered petals in the shadows

    Hungry for a gentle voice
    Guiding hands of thorns
    Clutching for a crimson smile
    To hide the roads of scars

    For the child... For I to drown
    Inside a shattered sea
    To stumble upon thy playgrounds
    For dawn is but another dream

    I haven't written free-form poetry in a really long time. Forgive me for the presumptuous thy. I felt like it.
  8. A Storm at Shore
    May 2016

    Rusted anchors at my feet
    Washed out by the shattered sea
    Locked onto my ankles, loosely
    Yet I must not be unchained

    Lips frosted with salt, cheeks fissuring
    I grip the jagged knife, unnerving
    With every moment of sorrow and grief
    Thrust upon myself, alone, deep into the flesh

    Crystallized in a pose, on my knees
    Helpless under your storms of thunder
    The knife caressing the bone
    Cutting through your desperate grip

    The rusted anchors mold ruthlessly
    Asleep on a bed of crimson, again
    Incapable of standing, limbs ironed hard
    Into the chains, afloat in the sea
  9. The Lost Ship
    May 2016

    Her compass seemed broken
    The glass cracked, the arrow uneven
    Heading north, set course with high sails
    The shattered sea raging on the wood

    She sailed without certainty
    Her map ruined by endless storms
    The arrow pointed north
    But stars were shining south

    Carelessly, she moved yet further
    Leaving devastation and brightness
    The ship creaked and protested
    But the waves had long deafened her

    Her heart soared beyond the horizon
    Fire burning her eyes and soul
    Her broken compass lead her astray
    Yet she pushed the fatigued sails

    As the fire died, her soul shattered
    In the sea without certainty
    Her maps withered away, today
    And still she grips the sinking ship
  10. The Puppet Show
    May 2016

    She's a broken toy, ragged doll
    Bent into habit by love and loss
    She staggers off the stage
    Her strings flimsy and unmoving

    Locked back into her shattered mind
    Maybe tomorrow will be better
    But her tomorrows never come
    They pity her, though she is blind

    The golden shrine has faded
    She hopes it will be dawn again
    It is so dark in this closet
    Even her eyes cannot discern him

    Her stitched arms are always reaching
    For whom is holding her strings
    She is not hopeless, knowing the tale
    Perhaps her stage will be lit again
  11. The Stars and Moon
    May 2016

    On the verge of the cliff
    She stares at the moon
    Unyielding in its beauty
    Inebriated and breathless

    Her burnt soul, a lump of ash
    Doesn't disappear in the summer breeze
    It stales the air, suffocates her
    She reaches for the stars again

    Her back scarred by fallen wings
    The grass feels sharp now
    Anchored in place, she smiles
    Her blind eyes weeping tomorrow

    Another endless night, starlit
    Not even a cloud or shadow
    To make her feel again
    Like a beast mocked by her savior
    • Love Love x 1
  12. Soaring in the Night
    May 2016

    She chokes on her sins
    Desire deep down her throat
    Hands bound behind her back
    Unreachable, yet so calm inside

    Another hit, another chain broken
    She is left begging again
    Be free, he says, he chants
    He pulls her hair for an encore

    Inebriated on an endless night
    She could care less about dawn
    Like an animal rattling its cage
    She roars alone at the stars

    He is her, she is him
    For but a moment they smile
    So calm and free, in their hearts
    Until the candle dies out, they soar
    • Like Like x 1
  13. Deliverance

    A tale from the past featuring Helena Torres, 1660.

    Since she was a child, Helena's parents told her about the dangers lurking in the night. They always kept their doors locked, and they were luckier than most of the other aboriginals in the town. Her family had been in servitude to one of the white Señores for two decades and they were lodged in an underground hut not far off the main property. Even as a child, Helena felt like this was glorified slavery, her parents were never paid and she didn't have the liberty of running on the beach or in the fields with the other kids her age. But her mother kept reassuring her that their lives were much improved thanks to Señor Diego del Mar. He provided them protection (from what, she wasn't sure until much later), food (rotten or spoils were not very tasty in her opinion), and a place to live. The last bit was the only advantage that had ever made sense to little Helena.

    Her life changed just as her second husband died of a fever, in a particularly hot summer of 1660. He had been writhing for hours, moaning and not recognizing anyone and himself. Helena hated this sickness that consumed so many of her people, her mother blaming it on the creatures that roamed the night. The young woman herself had never encountered any, but azemans were most definitely to blame for this recent wave of death. The town smelled foul, the bodies not being buried properly and sometimes hight tides drifting them away.

    The advantage of being married for Helena was to finally be out of this damned underground house. She loved feeling the sun on her skin and watching the stars, none of which were possible when she was locked up with her family or locked up in the white man's house. Her husband had passed just the night before, and her things had already been gathered to be brought back over there. She hated it, but unless she wanted to join all her husbands and unborn children in the graves that floated away, she knew it was wise to obey Señor Diego del Mar; he owned her, after all.

    Helena was a grown woman, she no longer truly believed in the tales of the azeman, those creatures that hunted in the night in the form of bats. A little part of her was still cautious, but not against creatures that did not exist.

    It was nearing midnight, she could tell by the intensifying buzzing of the bugs and the way the tide was changing. The waves were crashing particularly loudly and it allowed the young woman to sit at peace and pray that she would be married again soon. Deep within her thoughts about finally having her own family and be rid of premature deaths, Helena did not hear the heavy steps in the wet sand beside her. No, all she was paying attention to was the swishing and washing of the shore. It was all very hypnotic, so it would almost be understandable that she did not react when delicately sharp teeth sank in the tender part between shoulder and neck. It was a hot summer, it was probably a particularly large bug trying to get a little taste. Only when the waves were retreating from the shore did the breathy groan reach her ears.

    It was too late.

    Helena span her head in the direction of the pain but something warm and wet hit her jaw. Another breathy groan, another hit and this time it made contact with her mouth. An instinctive reaction was to bite down on the aggressor, and it was perhaps at the moment that Helena sealed her fate. A disgusting metallic substance dripped down her throat and just as her neck snapped, Helena felt a strange moment of euphoria that carried with her over the veil.

    But there was no veil. The young woman had seen enough deaths to need something to reassure her when her loved ones passed. The white men had brought with them their God and religion, and it was conceivably the only part of their culture that she partook in. Her immortal soul would join el Dios en el cielo. Suffering would be over, she was free, her loved ones would be waiting for her. Helena waited for something to transform before her, for the proverbial gates to open. But there was only darkness. No pain to remind her that she was alive, only a drumming numbness that spread through all of her limbs, replacing all of her blood with something colder, and older. The hunger would not come until a few minutes later, but for that torturous moment she lingered between death and a new life. Her body remained immobile when everything else fractured and blew to the wind like ashes.

    Suddenly Helena was aware she was half-submerged in salty water when a wave crashed on her and washed all of the blood away. Her hand went to her shoulder, but the skin had healed. Scars that had previously been on her hands due to rough labor were smoothed over as well, and a phantom weight had been lifted from her lower body. Everything felt different, there was a clear disconnection between her mind and her body and there was nothing else that mattered right this moment save for the lavish smell of blood. Disgusted with herself Helena slapped her right cheek and pushed herself to her feet, a weird exhilarating sensation in her limbs. Without delay her legs moved by themselves towards the tantalizing smell. Her chest began heaving from dry sobs and the remaining piece of lucidity that had remained within her mind was snuffed out like a candle in the rain. Someone had left the corpse of a child on the beach, or maybe it was a recently deceased one that got out of its floating grave. Regardless, Helena screamed into the night and plunged her face in a gaping wound.

    Once the new vampire had gorged herself on her very first human feast, a strong yet small hand pulled her away from the carcass.

    "¡Darse prisa! Por favor, apurarse, Helena." (Hurry up! Please, hurry, Helena.) The voice was assertive but kind. The mystery hand pull her up and forced her to run. Helena was still heaving and growling uncontrollably.

    "What is happening?!" Her voice was hoarse and high-pitched, and truthfully she wasn't sure the other person heard her. Everything was so loud, the ocean sounded like it was in the middle of a wild storm, but it was moving calming in her peripheral vision. Helena was running full speed now, and still it did not feel like any extra effort was being exercised.

    "You are one of us now, girl. Your existence has cursed many others, all die at your touch. You belonged here with us." Helena realized it was a woman pulling her along, and sharp yellow nails were digging in her flesh. But it did not hurt. She tried to stop running but the woman turned her face back at Helena, showing her the most grotesque visage she had ever laid her eyes on.

    "You! You are an azeman! A bat, creature of the night, bloodsucker!" Helena waited for terror to paralyze her, to blank out her mind, but it did not come. She wasn't feeling anything now, except for the strange satisfaction of a quelled hunger like she had never had before.

    She was one of them?

    "Yes, we are azeman. Not a bat, silly girl. We will teach you, child, and you will be thankful for this deliverance. Better this than eternal hell and damnation." The azeman woman laughed and finally slowed down. To the younger woman's surprise, they were way out of the town now and in a denser part of the forest. "This is your new home, Helena. Welcome to your new life." In the dim light from the moon, Helena saw the horrifying beauty of the woman, something out of another world surely meant to seduce even the chastest of priests. Was this what her life would be now? All she had ever wanted was a family, and with sharp bitterness she cursed el Dios for his cruel sense of humour.
    • Bucket of Rainbows Bucket of Rainbows x 1
  14. A roleplay by Pahn & @Kalab (originally on Amor)

    WARNING: Sexual content and violence (rape, gore)


    A dark and violent re-telling of a classic tale by Pahn & Kalab

    Blackentel was a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a forest inadequately named Black Briar. While everything along the large eastern river were bushes and wild roses, the northern and western parts of the village were surrounded by a thick and dark forest, where even the bravest of men did not dare step out of the beaten path to hunt game. The century-old trees, mostly spruce and pine trees, created a thick canopy that filtered very little sunlight. Only during winter did it clear up, despite the high levels of snow. North-eastern of the village was a huge manor, some said it was abandoned because no one ever seemed to go there or come back from it. Folklore legends and spooky stories had spawned from the imagination of those who ventured close, whispers about a beast and screams that would tear your eardrums. Of course none of them were really founded -- who really believed in some mysterious beast that lived in an ancient manor?

    The people of Blackentel originated from a group of settlers who followed the original lord who owned the mansion. Not much is known about the history of the village, but many believe the townspeople were once the servants of the enigmatic lord and had followed him and his family into the heart of the wilderness to build a trading settlement: a trade post, perhaps, for those travelling the river. There was a quaint port with two boats, one for fishing and one for crossing the river. A long time ago there had been a village on the other side too, but now only ruins and unfarmable lands remained. It was another bit of history that sparked imagination and every tale about what had happened there was even more ridiculous than the last. The village elders held firmly onto strange celebrations surrounding seasonal changes, every new generation of them following through peculiar rituals without question. They usually lived on the outskirts of the village, deeper in the forest, and it was very strange indeed that their homes were passed down to the next elder in line when they passed away.

    One of those elders, Mrs. Grimaulk, lived in the further cottage, not far from the manor. She had surpassed her companions and was now over eighty years of age -- she had seen many winters, but somehow this one felt like it would be the coldest and would bring death on the doorsteps of the people of Blackentel. The old woman felt it in her bones and within her soul: a tragedy would fall upon their village, and there would be no going back.


    Rosamund Norbella was not afraid of the forest.

    The young woman travelled through it multiple times a month, and once a month during the winter, to care after the lovely old lady who had gifted her the cloak she wore. Mrs. Grimaulk was the closest thing she had to family left, and Rose loved her dearly like she was her own grandmother. The young people her age didn't quite understand Rose's dedication to caring after the elderly, most thought it was a waste of time, perhaps an excuse to avoid getting married and having a family of her own. She ignored those and silently swore she would never suffer the same fate as her mother: bringing a new life into this world only to have her own taken away.

    Late fall was her favourite time of the year. The colour of the leaves, the smell from the frozen morning dew, how warm the sun felt on her ivory skin. This particular day was overcast though, with little bits of rain across the village, but she didn't let that deter her enthusiasm: no, Rose rarely found herself affected by negative bearings, no matter what life threw at her. She was heading out for her second visit of the month to Mrs. Grimaulk's (whom she actually called Granny) with a hand-woven basket containing vegetables, dried meat, and bread. She rarely walked off the beaten paths, and when she was surrounded by the towering conifers, it brought her a pleasant sense of serenity, and made her wonder how anyone could be legitimately afraid of such a haven.

    The walk itself took about an hour, if she didn’t get distracted by all the marvellous things nature had to offer her creative mind. Strange tree branches, a lost mitten or hat, small animals -- anything was a perfect opportunity to stop and fantasize about invisible worlds and things one could only find in story books. It would be well into the late afternoon by the time she got to Granny’s, but she didn’t mind and the elderly woman was aware of her little adventures. Her cottage was deep in the forest, and off the beaten path -- but Rose didn’t mind, the creepy and smothering dim light caused by the heavy canopy was like a blanket from the real world and Rose was simply in a magical place where nothing but Granny, herself, and small animals existed. In its own strange way, it was comforting and familiar.

    The young woman had taken longer than usual on her way to the cottage, picking out the last remaining flowers from a curious late-blooming bush of wild roses. Those would smell wonderful when Granny would light up the fireplace, and she figured the old woman would appreciate a little bit of colour in her home.

    Rosamund Norbella should probably have known there was something wrong when she didn’t see any light in the cottage despite the smoke filtering out of the chimney. It was not uncommon for Granny to take naps early in the evening and simply sleep for longer than planned, but it the natural darkness of the forest would still make her keep a few gas lamps burning while she slept. Alas, Rose kept humming her little tune like any other day, and knocked twice before opening the unlocked door of Mrs. Grimaulk’s home.

    ”Hello Granny! It’s me, Rose. I hope I’m not waking you up…”

    A soft smile still lingering on her delicate face, the young woman closed the door behind her, engulfing herself in the darkness that filled the little cottage.

    HUNGRY Hungry eyes peered from the dark forest into the quaint little village. The eyes searched through the people that roamed back and forth through the streets looking for a single red cloak. He could smell her. Even through the myriad of scents that floated to him on the autumn breeze, he could smell her. A scent so familiar to him. He had been watching her for weeks, possibly months. He knows where she goes and when she goes. He would see her soon, and there she was. He grabbed his genitals reflexively and squeezed. He exhaled long and slow before dropping down to all fours and backing deeper into the thicker brush and briar.

    Today would be their day. It would be days before they noticed her gone. He had been watching and planning. The beast was cunning and calculating. He knew just where he would take her. He knew just where he could make her his with no one to come to her rescue. He would be waiting.

    He knew that he should leave now but found it so hard to turn his eyes from her. Her scent still drifted to him feeding his lust for her. His inner animal screamed to take her now but the beast was not dumb. He knew if he took her this close to the village that they would hunt him. He knew that they could not kill him but they would make things complicated. There was a better way.

    Reluctantly he turned from her and stalked off deeper into the forest before turning and traveling parallel with the girl. He moved quickly but surprisingly silent for a beast his size. He stayed low on all fours to make himself even more harder to see. It wasn’t long before the small cottage came into view. He knew the door would be open for him because the old hag would be waiting for the girl. He slipped in through the front door and heard a voice from the bedroom almost immediately. ”Rose dear? Is that you already? I wasn’t expecting you so soon. You’ve shown up early and caught an old lady napping.”

    The wolf entered her room low then lept up onto her bed just as she started to sit up. He backhanded her with a massive clawed hand that was easily as big as her head laying her back down in her bed. He placed his hand on her head and with the other, he ripped the front of her night clothes from her body. Without a moment’s hesitation, the beast buried his elongated muzzle into the belly of the old woman. His sharp teeth and powerful jaws easily tore through the aged flesh of her torso and into her tasty insides. She screamed for the first time.

    The famished beast tore into her, first eating the tender organs from her belly before moving on to the wiry meat that clung to her bones. The old lady had screamed for only a few minutes before her injuries became too much for her but for the aging grandma. It had seemed like an eternity.

    The beast had not eaten in days and make quick work of the old woman and was quite messy in his rush. The bed had become of pool of crimson with splotches and splatters covering the floor and most every wal. Even the low ceiling had not been safe from being painted with the old woman’s blood. Even her larger bones were not safe from the wolf’s hunger. What was left of the old woman when he was finished could hardly be recognized as human if it weren’t for her head. Even it had been gnawed upon rendering her unrecognizable.

    Once he had his fill of the cottage’s occupant, he doused the lights and waited. He sat in the dark remembering how extra succulent the scent of the young female had been this morning to him. He grew impatient as he waited for her. She should have been there by now. He was at the point of going find her in the forest and deal with the consequences of abducting her openly then he heard her. He heard her familiar sweet little voice humming a familiar tune. He backed against a wall that would be safe from the light when she opened the door.

    And then a knock and the door opened to reveal her. Saliva mixed with the blood of the old woman dripped excessively from his half open maw and from his tongue as he licked his bloody lips. He was erect almost immediately at the sight of her. This moment had dominated his thoughts for what seemed like an eternity at this moment and here it was.

    The moment the door closed plunging them into darkness, the wolf was upon her. He grabbed her by the throat and forced her back against the closed door. His night vision was impeccable and he could clearly see the terror etched across her face. His muzzle moved close to her face as he sniffed her and then around next to her ear. A growl erupted from him that eerily took the form of a word. ”Silence!” The claws of his free hand easily ripped through the skirt part of her dress so that he could force his hand between her thighs. Her scent wafted up to him causing his hips to jerk involuntarily. He licked upward from her jawline to her forehead. He could easily imagine her tender body wrapped around his throbbing shaft, a throbbing shaft that pressed against her exposed thigh right this moment. His actions and condition left no doubt of his intentions with her.

    A Smell of Terror​

    As soon as the door was closed behind her, Rosamund was overwhelmed by a strong, coppery smell. Strangely similar to that of a butcher's shop on a slaughter day. She didn't remember Granny ever butchering an animal inside, but it was quite cold outside and the old woman was not getting young. Her brows still drew in together in confusion when she took a step forward, and then all air left her lungs when something gripped her throat and threw her against the cold wooden door.

    It felt like the entire cottage shook with her, the creak of resistance from the door echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. Until she heard him smell her.

    It went all too fast for Rose. The sudden smell of copper was even stronger now, it was on this beast's breath as he exhaled on her face. She wanted to throw up from the disgust that flooded her, but his hand on her throat made any return of fluids impossible. A purely animalistic growl tore through the numbing thump of her own pulse caused the young woman to gasp, inadvertently inhaling another huff of the metallic smell.

    A scream crawled it's way towards the back of her mouth, her lips parted in terror, until he spoke. Pure terror paralyzed her and she didn't even attempt to stop him from ripping her skirts. What is it doing? It did not take her long to figure it out.

    Rose may have been a prude and inexperienced, but she knew what that throbbing hardness was on her thigh. She was still blinded by the darkness, petrified by shock and horror, and so it was impossible for her to look down to confirm her assumption. The woman could not turn away either when something wet and foul slathered half of her face. Oh no... The mix of blood and saliva nauseated her and she tried to jerk her face away in a sudden moment of lucidity, but the rest of her body did not follow. The grip on her throat was not deadly, and it only seemed to want to keep her restrained.

    Before she could help it, a muffled sob escaped from her otherwise quiet body which had the effect of shaking her out of the stupor.

    Hands shot to the beasts's own hand on her throat and she tried to pull it away, kick him wherever she could reach. But the more she wiggled around to free herself, the more she felt the beast press himself against her. Or maybe that was just a trick from her imagination?

    Filled with dread, Rose felt the hard member inch dangerously close to her most intimate region, and suddenly the shame of her own exposed flesh left her panting and whimpering.

    "P-please! Let m-me go!" Her voice was low and uneven, her throat tight with both his hands and the fear that felt like time had stopped. All thoughts of her Granny were gone. At some point her mind acknowledged that the smell was Mrs. Grimaulk's, and that the beast had been waiting for her arrival. She had walked right into his trap, a trap she would have had no way to escape considering she had to sleep the night. Where would she sleep now? The realization that she may be living her last moment dawned on Rose, and a shaky breath later, her lungs expanded and a loud shriek aimed at absolutely no one tore through the small cottage.

    Who would hear her anyway? They were miles from the small town, the closest thing was the strange mansion.

    Rosamund's face contorted in a cry of desperation, and it was over as soon as it had started. Her small body was shaking from shock while tears escaped her wide open eyes. Today, Rose thought, today was the day she would die in a bloody mess and be robbed of her virtue by nothing more than a savage beast.

    LUST For months he had watched her. He had watched her in her village and outside the safety of its boundaries. He had watched and waited. He had waited for the time to be right. His lust had grown so that it could no longer be contained. Now was that time whether it be right or not.Now she was here at his mercy. At the mercy of a merciless beast.

    His lust for her had grown over the past months that his focus blocked out all else.For him, the scent of her sex overwhelmed even the aroma of blood the permeated the air within the room. He would not take her here up against the door. That would be too…, too human. He was not human. He was Wolf and he would fuck her like a wolf.

    With a growl of intimidation, the beast tossed the girl Across the room and through the draped opening that led to grandma’s room. There was very little of the room that was not covered with a coat of the old woman’s blood or entrails. The girl would have been hard pressed not to have ended up covered in the remains of the old woman when she landed in the other room.

    Suddenly the drapes that veiled the entrance into the room were ripped away and the huge beast filled the hole. He literally had to duck to enter the room. He looked down at the barely clothed girl on the floor and then to the bed where the old woman had once slept. The bed was colored crimson with the blood of the old woman and bits of her that had not been devoured by the beast were scattered about on top of the sheet.

    With a growl, he closed the distance between him and the girl in a blink of an eye. In the next instant his huge hand was once again around the throat of the girl and he lifted her and tossed her down onto the bloody bed. There was nothing gentle about the actions of the wolf. He feared no repercussions for his actions. He knew the girl was no match for his strength as he tossed her about like a rag doll.

    He flipped her over onto her stomach forcing her face into the bloody sheets and tore off what was left of her dress and any other clothing that might be covering her. He then pulled her hips back to meet him and forced the engorged head of his shaft into her tiny entrance. His girth immediately stretched her beyond her limits as he forced his way deeper inside her.

    He grunted with every thrust of his hips as he forced his way deeper into her determined for her to take all of him. His claws dug into her tender flesh as his grip tightened. Now her blood mixed with that of the old woman’s on the drenched sheets. His heavy balls slapped the back of her thighs as his knotted cock tore at her pristine pussy.

    Crimson Carnage​

    In this moment of absolute terror, Rose had forgotten all about Mrs. Grimaulk. The old woman seemed to be from another world, a place where beasts like this one did not rape and kill young women like her. For a wild moment Rose thought she must have stepped into another universe entirely much similar to her own; that would have been the only explanation.

    Until the repugnant smell of blood and innards reached her nose. The beast had thrown her into what she knew to be Mrs. Grimaulk's room, her feet slipping and tripping, and the violent stench hit her like a punch in the gut. Her hands were suddenly wet and sticky and something was coating her knees and legs as she struggled to get back to her feet. Her efforts were in vain; the beast's growl caused her to tremble in distraught before he even took hold of her again. His clawed hand pressed on her throat dangerously, but if he had been trying to silence her it was a useless endeavour: the muscles in her neck seemed to be paralyzed in fear and shock, barely allowing the girl to breathe as it were.

    If Rosamund had any intellect left in the moment she hit into the blood-soaked bed, it had entirely fled in the deepest corners of her mind. Without haste her face was pressed into the mattress, and for a second she struggled to breathe through the blood and a couple of discarded bones were pressing against her ribs. In a desperate attempt to flee, Rose reached somewhere in front of her for anything that might help or distract the beast. The remaining of her dress was shredded away by his sharp claws, leaving the young woman completely naked and covered in Mrs. Grimaulk's blood.

    Before her quest for something to take hold of could even begin, he grabbed her hips and in that instant everything was pain.

    "N-no..." Her sobbed plea was whimpered in a choke of searing pain. Rose knew it wasn't supposed to be this awful, but his cock was much larger than any normal man's. Uncontrollable sobs made the blood in her face sputter from her lips and come to life with her tears, but it only seemed to encourage him. She had never felt so violated in her entire life.

    Being a virgin, Rose wasn't entirely sure how the whole process was in regards to sex; so once the beast hilted himself inside her, tearing and breaking more than just her inner walls, she thought it would be over soon. Then the thrusting began. In a completely irrational moment she wondered if the old woman's blood would make less friction, but then the scalding torture of her womanhood continued and if her throat hadn't been so tight from fright, she might have hurled any remaining food in her stomach.

    Just when the young woman thought her body was becoming numb from the ordeal, he clawed her tender skin, and in a frenzied second she hoped he would pierce deep enough to kill her sooner. Alas, the wound was nothing compared to the continued assault of her womanhood, especially when she felt his cock grow thicker and break her walls thoroughly. Unable to keep up with the excruciating pain and completely dizzied by it and the stench of blood, Rose's eyes looked up in hope to find some kind of mental release. When she saw Mrs. Grimaulk's bloody head on the edge of the bed, wobbling in rhythm to the beast's thrusting, Rosamund's eyes fluttered shut and her face fell flat into the blood-soaked sheets, staining her tear-streaked face.

    NO HOPE A single light shines in a sea of darkness. The flame of a single candle dances alone. Many would see that single light as a sign of hope when they are alone in the darkness. In many cases they would be right, but this is not such a case. She is in the darkness but she is not alone. The little light that does exist only illuminates the horrors that surround her. The flickering light causes the shadows to dance in the darkness. It gives the features on the dead face of Mrs. Grimaulk the illusion of continuously changing as if she were still alive despite her shredded condition. The light’s only purpose here is to illuminate a scene of horror. He is oblivious to it all. He only knows self gratification.

    The beast continues to pound his lupine cock into her well after she has gone limp in his grasp. It is only after he has dumped his vile seed into her that he releases her and lets her slide down off from his length onto the dirty bed. He leans down to sniff her before licking the fresh blood that flows from the wounds left by his claws. He flips her over onto her back. A single one of her breasts falls exposed from the tattered remains of her dress. The beast stares down at the shallow rise and fall of her breast indicating that she still lives. This means nothing to the creature who then leans down to lick her exposed nipple. His snout then moves upward to her face where he smells the shallow breath escaping her. It is then that he truly understands that she still lives.

    Normally whether she lived or not would not concern him. He had achieved release and would just devour her remains whether she be live or dead. This one had been different. He had stalked her while craving to taste her purity. Purity was a rarity in this age where some many females were deflowered long before they reached sexual maturity. He had lusted for her for weeks and now he had her. He had thought that in his lust fueled frenzy that he had ended her before he could truly get his full fill of her pleasures but now he realises different. This excites him.

    The beast, though feral, is not completely without thought and reasoning. He knows that to defile her again, here and now, would surely mean her end. To truly reap the benefits of her surviving his initial assault, she will need time to heal. The solution is simplistic, he will take her with him, but they must not know that he was here or they will hunt him.

    He lifts her, cradling her under one arm then turns to leave with her. He sees the oil lamp sitting on the dining table in the kitchen as he leaves the room. He returns to the room with the lamp and throws it against the wall over the candle. The corner of the room erupts into an inferno. The flames spread quickly over the old timbers that made up the old woman’s home. The wolf bolted from the cottage with the female still limp under his arm. He turned to look back from the forest’s edge to see the cottage quickly becoming engulfed by the flames. He only watched for a moment before vanishing into the thick underbrush.

    For a creature of his size and bulk, he moved amazingly fast through the thick foliage. His thick matted fur protected him from the multitude of branched and thorns that tore at him. The girl’s ass and the back of her legs would not be so lucky as well as any other portion of her flesh exposed to the lashings of the forest’s underbrush. It was not long before he spotted his lair come into view over the trees as the forest began to thin. His castle fortress sat high on the crest of a rise looming over the village in the valley below.

    He entered the massive foyer and roared his arrival. Numerous red eyes appeared in the darkness around the foyer’s perimeter as the sound of his roar continued to echo throughout the castle’s many corridors. The eyes followed their master, their alpha, as he strolled boldly down the foyer’s center with his recent acquisition. They could smell the blood and they could smell her sex. Both aromas pulled at them, urging them forward to get their own taste but they did not act on these urges. A greater emotion held them at bay. Fear. They feared the wrath of the alpha should they desecrate his property, the bloody female. They knew that to do so would be death, and not a quick merciful death.

    Once through the foyer, the beast traveled upward through corridors and stairwells. He eventually arrived at a room in one of the castle’s many towers. In this room was a bed in which he tossed the limp body of the female onto. He paused for a moment as his eyes wandered up and down the length of her exposed flesh. He pulled at his cock and grunted before leaving the room. He would have his way with several of the female wolves that populated his lair before his lust would be sated.

    Several hours later, the sound of a latch being disengaged would sound through the door of the room containing the girl. A human male entered the room carrying firewood under one arm and a large pail of water with the other. He ignored the woman and moved towards the large fireplace where he set the bucket down and began to stack the wood inside the large opening. Working with practiced precision, it was not log before the man had a fire started. While still quite small, there was no doubt that it would grow. He emptied the pail of water into a large cast iron pot hanging over the fire.

    The man then left the room and returned less than a half hour later with another load of wood and yet another pail of water with the addition of a pile of cloth draped over his shoulder. He dropped the wood on the floor near the fireplace and poured the water into the pot. He then walked towards the bed and the woman laying on top the bed’s covers. He laid the cloth down on the bed next to her. The cloth turned out to be several rags for cleaning and a gown. He began to strip the shredded garments from the seemingly unconscious woman.

    Morning Pains​

    In her delirious dreams of pain and fear, Rosamund saw no light which she go towards to and instead attempted to fight the realization that she was not dead. Nothing made sense and everything hurt, hurt so bad that the young woman wished she were indeed dead. She was completely unaware of the entire trip from Mrs. Grimaulk's house to the beast's lair, and even as her consciousness was fighting to return she didn't understand what was happening. Why wasn't he killing her? Why had he chosen her? All those questions made Rose's head hurt, so it wasn't very long until a deep sleep claimed her.

    The loud sound of a door latch tickled her mind awake, but just like before she felt so much pain all at once that even opening her eyes seemed impossible. There was a nasty taste of copper in the back of her mouth, so opening it was not a good idea especially with how tight her throat felt. Through the throbbing agony of her body, Rose listened to the person move about the room. She suddenly felt the chilled coldness of the room, and had she been able to the young woman would have shivered. Soon enough though she smelled and heard a fire cracking, and a small wave of relief washed over her. Maybe she had been saved from the savage beast after all!

    Sill unable to move or do much else but lie there with a new sliver of hope that burned with the fire, Rose listened to the person and everything they did. The sound of an empty container being filled with water reminded her how thirsty she was, and for a crazy second she almost asked out loud to have water. But before she could do any such thing, the person left the room and the tightness in Rose's throat spread to her chest. Having no sense of time, it felt like hours before they returned, and heavy things were dropped and more water was poured. Her chest was moving up and down with difficulty, and even when the person began undressing her she had no strength or will to move. She was safe anyway and the sane part of her mind acknowledge that she did have wounds everywhere that needed to be treated. Her virtue had already been stolen, she had nothing left to lose now.

    The remaining fabric on her body were soaked and crusted with blood, and every single piece being removed was a torment in itself. The skin of her breasts felt stiff with welts, and with the new awareness of her body being fully exposed with re-opened wounds there was nothing Rose could do to stop the guttural groan of pain. The muscles of her face contorted into a grotesque expression that pulled out a sepuchral howl, this time loud enough to shake the young woman awake. Bloodstained eyelids flew open only to reveal bloodshot eyes. Rose coughed from the dryness of her throat that seemed to make her tongue too large for her mouth, and because the coppery taste was still lingering.

    "Wa... ter..." The young woman's eyes rolled back to show bloodshot whiteness, gasping for air while her body finally went through the tremors of pain it had been holding back while she was unconscious. Her skin all over felt stiff and the small cuts on the back of her thighs and on her ass suddenly burned back to life. Fresh tears trailed new paths amidst the crimson smudges on her cheeks and a dry sob choked out from her mouth. It lasted for all of a minute perhaps then her body tensed into a foetal position but her knees couldn't reach even halfway up. Rose looked like a mistreated and beaten rag doll and it took all her might to open her eyes again and to look at the handsome man who had been fussing around the room for the past hour.

  15. Sisters

    A roleplay prologue.
    Setting: Kansas-Missouri border, summer of 1864

    "Are you sure this is the right place, Miss Evelyn?" The voice came from an out-of-breath young woman carrying two very large wheeled trunks along with a large backpack from which dangled a single iron pot. Sweat covered her dark forehead and stained the once white cap on her head, but otherwise a vibrant grin was spreading her ebony cheeks.

    The other woman, Evelyn Jackson, simply looked back at her and nodded with an equally wide smile. Her strawberry-blonde hair was falling out of her bun and sticking to her sweat-covered neck, and one would have agreed that her clothing attire was not very appropriate for the conditions they had travelled in. But they were the only clothes she owned at the moment, kindly sewed and re-sewed by her travelling companion.

    "We're getting there, Ann." Her sharp green eyes dipped to look at the black woman's protruding belly. It had grown significantly larger since they had left months ago, and Evelyn was sure it wouldn't bee too long now until she was ready to give birth. That was part of the reason they had left the estate in the first place despite the war happening in these regions. "Don't you see it from here? Look, it's the big brown house over there, on the left."

    With a renewed vigour the two women continued their march towards the mythical colonial house. Evelyn had heard her father and uncles mention the house, and when she had asked them about it with curiosity they had pushed her away, saying it was not any of a little girl's business. Later that day, she had sneaked to the servants' quarters and they had more answers than she could wish for. An old lady explained in hushed tones how it was haunted by angered spirits, and no one had lived there for decades. The last known owner of the land had died many decades ago without any heirs, and his cruelty towards those beneath him had tainted the very ground on which the house was built on.

    Memories of her conversations with the old black lady resurfaced as they drew closer to the big brown house. It was truly magnificent and no one would have thought such a marvel of architecture would be cursed or even abandoned. Sure, the foliage was out of control and the windows broken or blackened with dust and wear. Evelyn could see past those inconveniences and her dream was ever closer to becoming true. Her blistered hands gripped the handles of the wooden cart harder and her breath quickened, and without realizing it she was walking faster and faster towards her forever home.

    "Miss Evelyn, please—" Ann sounded even more out of breath than earlier, and she had both her hands cradling her belly. "I cannot keep up, may we rest just a minute?" Despite her request she was still keeping up with Evelyn, but her heaving chest was enough for the older woman to slow down and put down the cart.

    "My apologies, friend. I let the anticipation get the best of me. We can rest." Reaching out to help Ann drop the two trunks carefully, she set them facing each other so they would have a place to sit that wasn't dirt and wet grass. "Is it... hurting?"

    Ann pulled a long and yellowed cloth from the backpack to wipe the sweat off her face and neck, breathing deeply before answering Evelyn. "It will be all right, Miss Evelyn. Do you think we will be the first ones to arrive?" A water skin was handed to her and she took a few small sips, the loud swooshing of the water inside it slightly worrisome considering they had another day at least before they could start looking for more water.

    "All those who answered my letters were leaving just a bit after us. They have also spread the word across their people. Families, friends, servants. Those with natural gifts have also been contacted."

    "Natural gifts? I have not seen such a woman in my life, but grand-maman whispered about the things they could do."

    The two women fell silent, both taken by bittersweet memories of grand-maman, the old woman who had told them about witchcraft and rituals. Evelyn had a book with spells and incantations, instructions about ritualistic ceremonies and seasonal celebrations. They were written in a mix of English, French, Creole, and Spanish — but she wasn't worried. The women she had written to were from all origins, and surely there would be one who also spoke one of those languages. Evelyn herself was fluent in French thanks to her uncle who married the daughter of a French architect.

    Since Ann had become pregnant out of wedlock with Evelyn's brother, she had incorporated a new branch to her plans. It made her realize how many women were shamed and exiled when a bastard was conceived, while the men got away with less than a slap on the wrist. It angered her to no end. Those girls deserved a better alternative, a chance at living a life untainted by such a mistake. As Ann gave her back the water skin, she grabbed her hand and squeezed it affectionately, looking her right in the eyes.

    "Everything will be okay, Ann. We are like sisters now, and no sister of mine shall ever suffer again." They both smiled and Ann nodded, old habits making her shift her eyes down. "No man shall ever be the master of us again. I promise."
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  16. Don't Go
    August 2017

    Secrets are just like lies
    Woven into intricate webs of deceit
    Trick me with the warmth of a smile
    While my heart still beats

    Etched in black ink
    Across my ribs and into my spine
    Your words never leave
    Just another reminder of broken promises

    As your hand caresses my cheek
    You spit between us, full of disdain
    But I cannot look down
    I am blinded by your touch

    I can feel the ink spreading
    Like a drop of black in the water
    Like a disease, unescapable
    It drags me under the surface without any air

    I wish I knew how to swim
    You never thought I would drown
    But now you can't look away
    Watching me fade beneath you

    Without a heart to scream
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