stitches on a rag doll's heart ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Prose] Snared The thrumming of my own heartbeat was driving me mad . . . The unquenchable fire of my panic welled up in my mind, blinding me, strangling me with fear. My body was slicked with sweat. My cheeks were streaked with tears. My hair was sticking to my face, my vision was blurred, my teeth were chattering, my shoulders were shaking, and I couldn�t stop sobbing. Every time I tried to calm myself down, another surge of terror would drive me to the edge, and the cries would resume. I tried to remember where I had seen his face before; he stared at me from the shadows, immaculate, untouchable, like a carved porcelain prince. His visage was smooth and white, his glittering, dark eyes some deep shade between violet and blue. Somehow, I could tell, even though he was so far away, even though his silky, black hair fell into his face. No matter how hard I tried, I could not break the bonds. I was fastened so securely I was unsure whether even a knife could release me. I had rubbed my wrists raw in my vain struggles, and I was bleeding; I could feel the blood trickling down over my hot skin, and it tickled in a tortuous, slow way. His gaze was boring into me. I could feel him reading my soul, turning over every thought and impulse I had ever had; I felt the weight of his judgments, of his condemnations, as he stared deeply into my eyes. He never blinked. The second he moved, I screamed; but my scream held no substance in that damned place somewhere between waking and sleeping, and I knew nobody would ever hear it. My body jerked, the frantic dance of an animal ensnared . . . But I could not escape, and his cold fingers touched me, trailing down my wet cheek and down my throat. �There is no need to cry, little swan,� he said. The sound of his voice, so soft and so sweet, calmed my body immediately -- but my mind still raced, frantic with terror. I drew in a shuddering breath and looked up at him, into those deep eyes. �You belong to me,� he continued, his expression utterly still. �You will always belong to me . . . You will never escape, so do try to lie still . . . You are hurting yourself in your distress.� Somehow, looking into those eyes, I lost my ability to struggle despite my terror. My limbs were leaden and my heartbeat slowed. He bent close to me, running a delicate, pink tongue up my arm; with a chill, I realized he was lapping up my blood. 3:39 p.m. - 2007-12-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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