Played
Posted: Tue Jul 18, 2006 11:14 pm
In the night a violin wailed, the long low notes crying out in a eulogy of abandoned hope. She swayed with her song, her soul moving her body moving her bow and fingers, the despairing echo satisfying her, filling her with joyful loss. She need not see, her wet lashes closed in the dim light, she only felt, projecting despair to the empty room.
She did not hear the window open, nor register the faint scent of salty Selgaunt night air drifting her way. Therefore she did not hear the window close, nor see the curtains drawn. Her violin cried.
A sound from behind stilled her body, but not her bow. The strings groaned under her melancholy, her back now stiff. To mind came tales of bodies found in the alleys, mutilated, desecrated. No sound, no touch. The strings lamented lost chances as the back of her neck itched with her guest’s hard gaze. It tingled down her back, resting at the base of her spine. The despairing wail changed but a little.
Her hair pushed to the side, a warmth settling in the center of her exposed neck. Her breath caught in her throat while her violin groaned, her soul’s yearning poured into the song. Warm fingers at her shoulders, teasing, playing her as she played her violin. His song traveling through her skin to her strings, desire moaning in the air. Her song did not slip as her dress did.
Hours later she lay; violin in one hand, bow in the other. Silenced.
She did not hear the window open, nor register the faint scent of salty Selgaunt night air drifting her way. Therefore she did not hear the window close, nor see the curtains drawn. Her violin cried.
A sound from behind stilled her body, but not her bow. The strings groaned under her melancholy, her back now stiff. To mind came tales of bodies found in the alleys, mutilated, desecrated. No sound, no touch. The strings lamented lost chances as the back of her neck itched with her guest’s hard gaze. It tingled down her back, resting at the base of her spine. The despairing wail changed but a little.
Her hair pushed to the side, a warmth settling in the center of her exposed neck. Her breath caught in her throat while her violin groaned, her soul’s yearning poured into the song. Warm fingers at her shoulders, teasing, playing her as she played her violin. His song traveling through her skin to her strings, desire moaning in the air. Her song did not slip as her dress did.
Hours later she lay; violin in one hand, bow in the other. Silenced.
, my luck she just ran out of breath after -censored-