//S a m p l e s
┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
ɪɯϼϑɾӭ ʗɒɲҁҙɻ
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
Ғ ɽ ɒ ɲ ʞ ҙ Ϯ ђ ;;
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
ɪɯϼϑɾӭ ʗɒɲҁҙɻ
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
Ғ ɽ ɒ ɲ ʞ ҙ Ϯ ђ ;;
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
Franketh lay out on his bed, eyes closed and breathing coming out slow. He was not asleep, he had just woken from another dream. Dream.. would not be the correct term. More like a reminder of his dismal life. One with no sister, no mother, no life of his own. Just four walls, a house, and a man that did not love him the way he loved.
His room was dark, black. The light was kept out by the heavy curtains that hung over the window. He didn't want sunshine in today. He didn't want the bright light, the birds, the clouds, the wind. He simply didn't want the memories.
The room was rather decorated. A small desk sat next to the door, a giant wooden monster with a mirror balanced on the wall, taking up most of the space. The wall next to that had the window, and a few paintings Franketh had done in his not so depression stages. They covered the wall that was itself, covered in paintings and drawings, of everything. From tree's and grass, to dragons and pixies. Not an inch was blank. The wall across from the door held a dresser, pictures and other trinkets stood on the top and the first shelf was closed tight, yet looked like it was pulled out many times, as if something was inside of it that needed constant checking. If one actually did open it, they would find odd bits of things. Broken cellphones, scribbled drawings, pieces of cloth, used makeup.
The last wall held the bed and the art supplies. Stacks upon stacks of drawings complete or unfinished. Many of the drawings where of people that lived in the house. A few of the sleeping Master, and even a few of his little sister. Then lay the paintings of her death. Of his most horrible and terrible nightmares. Of him bleeding and dead. To say that these drawings where morbid... would be an understatement.
The small CD player in the background, next to the dresser skipped slightly and started over on the song he had been listening to all night. It was a song he needed, and a song he tried to grasp fully in his heart.
The woman's strong voice floating over the room, causing Frankie to focus on it, and it alone.
Sweet love, sweet love
Trapped in your love
I’ve opened up, unsure I can trust
My heart and I were buried in dust
Free me, free us
You’re all I need when I’m holding you tight
If you walk away I will suffer tonight
His mouth opened and he sung along, a hand slowly gripping onto the pillow. His voice was rich, and in the middle between light and deep. It was intoxicating, and could rival even the best singers voice. It was one of his key traits, and he found himself deeply hating it at this exact second. He couldn't sing for his Master anymore, for he did not wish to hear it. He was in some frolic of a love with another servant. That stung. Honestly, and deeply stung. Frankie had no one here for him at this time. He was like a lost little bird with no way to fly, or person to sing to. He was alone.
Deep hazel eyes that had so much more blue and green opened slowly, thick soft black eyelashes framing them in a glory of pure beauty, and lips that had a slight cherry tint kept moving along with the song. His face looked like an angels framed by those long silk locks of heaven he called hair. Even in the dark, his hair shone bright enough to stand out as the bright haunting color. The color that would lead someone in the darkness like a lighthouse. He had always taken pride in the locks, the way they always stayed so silky smooth, and luminescent.
His body pushed up, exposing his nude back with a tattoo and small scars. The sheets that had covered him slipped down to pool around his hips, sending a slight chill down his spine. It was a tad drafty in the room.
Frankies shoulders rolled back, his muscles bunching slowly and releasing, almost like they needed something heavy on them. Like he needed wings to fly away.
I found a man I can trust
And boy, I believe in us
I am terrified to love for the first time
Can you see that I’m bound in chains
I finally found my way
I am bound to you
I am bound to you
So much, so young
I’ve faced on my own
Walls I built up became my home
I’m strong and I’m sure there’s a fire in us
Sweet love, so pure
A sound on the other side of the door made his sleep deprived eyes look up at the door.
If it had been the master... Frankie almost broke the song coming from his lips by letting out a sharp bark of laughter. Almost. Master would not come. He never came. He had left his little bird to rot in his cage.
I catch my breath with just one beating heart
And I brace myself, please don’t tear this apart
He drew himself up at last, the sheets falling back fully. As his body stood his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening. His voice rose a tad, now that he was actually standing and full oxygen could get into his lungs. Frankie began to move around the room, his hips twisting with such unknown power, like he could move and make you fall to your knee's, begging that this angel would bless your very soul. Such lovely power for someone who couldn't use it.
His hands fumbled for the music box that sat at the edge of the desk, gently stroking the cherry wood, not even looking up at the door for he knew someone was out there. He stood nude, looking up as the voice sounded out.
Oh. It was him.
"Addison. I'm awake. You can come in." He turned away from the door after saying this between a pause in the lyrics, returning to them as soon as they started again, uncaring if the elder entered or not, his backside facing the door as he grabbed the robe that lay across his desk. Frankie pulled it on, it's color was a rich black-blue that made his hair and skin stand out in such a brilliant contrast. He left it hanging open, not really caring what the other saw at this moment.
His body sat down elegantly down in the chair, legs crossed, the robe falling over the right places to hide his privates, but still expose the long silken expanse of legs, and a single shoulder as it hung off uncaring. His hands reached out and grabbed the hairbrush that sat before the mirror and he stared at himself in the dark before brushing his hair looking much like a goddess, rather then a man, knowing that Addison would turn on the lights soon enough and expose his horrible living, angelic face soon enough. But for right now, he would enjoy the dark, and not seeing what lay before him.
I found a man I can trust
And boy, I believe in us
I am terrified to love for the first time
Can’t you see that I’m bound in chains
I finally found my way
I am bound to you
I am bound to
Suddenly the moment’s here
I embrace my fears
All that I have been carrying all these years
Do I risk it all
Come this far just to fall, fall
Oh, I can trust
And boy, I believe in us
I am terrified to love for the first time
Can you see that I’m bound in chains
And finally found my way
I am bound to you
I am,
Ooh, I am
I’m bound to you
((Here is the song. So you get the feel of how he's moving and such.
link))
His room was dark, black. The light was kept out by the heavy curtains that hung over the window. He didn't want sunshine in today. He didn't want the bright light, the birds, the clouds, the wind. He simply didn't want the memories.
The room was rather decorated. A small desk sat next to the door, a giant wooden monster with a mirror balanced on the wall, taking up most of the space. The wall next to that had the window, and a few paintings Franketh had done in his not so depression stages. They covered the wall that was itself, covered in paintings and drawings, of everything. From tree's and grass, to dragons and pixies. Not an inch was blank. The wall across from the door held a dresser, pictures and other trinkets stood on the top and the first shelf was closed tight, yet looked like it was pulled out many times, as if something was inside of it that needed constant checking. If one actually did open it, they would find odd bits of things. Broken cellphones, scribbled drawings, pieces of cloth, used makeup.
The last wall held the bed and the art supplies. Stacks upon stacks of drawings complete or unfinished. Many of the drawings where of people that lived in the house. A few of the sleeping Master, and even a few of his little sister. Then lay the paintings of her death. Of his most horrible and terrible nightmares. Of him bleeding and dead. To say that these drawings where morbid... would be an understatement.
The small CD player in the background, next to the dresser skipped slightly and started over on the song he had been listening to all night. It was a song he needed, and a song he tried to grasp fully in his heart.
The woman's strong voice floating over the room, causing Frankie to focus on it, and it alone.
Sweet love, sweet love
Trapped in your love
I’ve opened up, unsure I can trust
My heart and I were buried in dust
Free me, free us
You’re all I need when I’m holding you tight
If you walk away I will suffer tonight
His mouth opened and he sung along, a hand slowly gripping onto the pillow. His voice was rich, and in the middle between light and deep. It was intoxicating, and could rival even the best singers voice. It was one of his key traits, and he found himself deeply hating it at this exact second. He couldn't sing for his Master anymore, for he did not wish to hear it. He was in some frolic of a love with another servant. That stung. Honestly, and deeply stung. Frankie had no one here for him at this time. He was like a lost little bird with no way to fly, or person to sing to. He was alone.
Deep hazel eyes that had so much more blue and green opened slowly, thick soft black eyelashes framing them in a glory of pure beauty, and lips that had a slight cherry tint kept moving along with the song. His face looked like an angels framed by those long silk locks of heaven he called hair. Even in the dark, his hair shone bright enough to stand out as the bright haunting color. The color that would lead someone in the darkness like a lighthouse. He had always taken pride in the locks, the way they always stayed so silky smooth, and luminescent.
His body pushed up, exposing his nude back with a tattoo and small scars. The sheets that had covered him slipped down to pool around his hips, sending a slight chill down his spine. It was a tad drafty in the room.
Frankies shoulders rolled back, his muscles bunching slowly and releasing, almost like they needed something heavy on them. Like he needed wings to fly away.
I found a man I can trust
And boy, I believe in us
I am terrified to love for the first time
Can you see that I’m bound in chains
I finally found my way
I am bound to you
I am bound to you
So much, so young
I’ve faced on my own
Walls I built up became my home
I’m strong and I’m sure there’s a fire in us
Sweet love, so pure
A sound on the other side of the door made his sleep deprived eyes look up at the door.
If it had been the master... Frankie almost broke the song coming from his lips by letting out a sharp bark of laughter. Almost. Master would not come. He never came. He had left his little bird to rot in his cage.
I catch my breath with just one beating heart
And I brace myself, please don’t tear this apart
He drew himself up at last, the sheets falling back fully. As his body stood his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening. His voice rose a tad, now that he was actually standing and full oxygen could get into his lungs. Frankie began to move around the room, his hips twisting with such unknown power, like he could move and make you fall to your knee's, begging that this angel would bless your very soul. Such lovely power for someone who couldn't use it.
His hands fumbled for the music box that sat at the edge of the desk, gently stroking the cherry wood, not even looking up at the door for he knew someone was out there. He stood nude, looking up as the voice sounded out.
Oh. It was him.
"Addison. I'm awake. You can come in." He turned away from the door after saying this between a pause in the lyrics, returning to them as soon as they started again, uncaring if the elder entered or not, his backside facing the door as he grabbed the robe that lay across his desk. Frankie pulled it on, it's color was a rich black-blue that made his hair and skin stand out in such a brilliant contrast. He left it hanging open, not really caring what the other saw at this moment.
His body sat down elegantly down in the chair, legs crossed, the robe falling over the right places to hide his privates, but still expose the long silken expanse of legs, and a single shoulder as it hung off uncaring. His hands reached out and grabbed the hairbrush that sat before the mirror and he stared at himself in the dark before brushing his hair looking much like a goddess, rather then a man, knowing that Addison would turn on the lights soon enough and expose his horrible living, angelic face soon enough. But for right now, he would enjoy the dark, and not seeing what lay before him.
I found a man I can trust
And boy, I believe in us
I am terrified to love for the first time
Can’t you see that I’m bound in chains
I finally found my way
I am bound to you
I am bound to
Suddenly the moment’s here
I embrace my fears
All that I have been carrying all these years
Do I risk it all
Come this far just to fall, fall
Oh, I can trust
And boy, I believe in us
I am terrified to love for the first time
Can you see that I’m bound in chains
And finally found my way
I am bound to you
I am,
Ooh, I am
I’m bound to you
((Here is the song. So you get the feel of how he's moving and such.
link))
╔══════════════╗
τɧҙ ωɪɗσω
╚══════════════╝
→Ϻɒɗɒɱҙ Λɾɒɪɢɳέҙ←
⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰
With a heavy sigh, and a raised hand to her forehead, the Mistress, Araignée walked into her house. She had been out of town, in La Rochelle for three days on some.. business maters that had refused to clear up properly with one of the farm owners. She hated it when people tried to take advantage of her children, it was disgusting.
Well, not as disgusting as the heap of flesh and bones she had left behind, that was sure.
Ariaignée slipped her gloves off, careful of not disturbing the beads that hung off of them. That was the last thing she needed. Looking even more dirty and horrible then she was already.
She let out a calm, and overly polite hello to you a young girl that took them for her, along with her hat and coat. "I will be in my room. Alert me of anything, or anyone who comes."
The small girl scurried off with a quick nod and vanished behind a pillar.
Picking her skirts up, Aria began to walk up the steps, being greeted by a few servants, whom she all knew by heart. Her brown hair that she had been so careful to arrange began to come undone by the third floor. Long curly locks of silk pooled down gently around her neck and breasts, giving her a slightly angelic look.
As she walked down the hallways, heading to the last flight of stairs (Why did her room have to be the top floor!?) she paused by a rather large oak door. She should go in and see the man behind it, it had been a while since she had called on him.
But in her current state, the beauty that was quickly turning into annoyance, she figured he would want her to relax. She would call on him later, after she had soaked and calmed down.
And possibly felt more.. Human.
The last steps lay behind her. Thank god.
She nearly skipped for joy to her room.
That would be the day.
-
Her room was dark, only a single candle lay lit. Just like she preferred. Her servants must have been waiting her return.
Oh. They even left her flowers on her nightstand.
If it was the case that they had been waiting for her, she could only wonder what would be for dinner and tea- a hungry growl came from her stomach and she laughed.
How it was silly her body acted human when there really was no need for it anymore.
She had probably just gotten used to his cooking.
Once farther inside, her purse dropped on the seats that had been sunk into the ground and her hand came up to fully untangle her hair, pins falling out onto the ground. One of the servants would clean that up. Her eyes drifted shut as she walked, knowing the exact layout of the room already. A relaxed sigh ran through her body.
How wonderful it felt to be home.
A maid came up shortly later, huffing and puffing as she scolded her Mistress in a kind tone, taking her out of her dress. It needed to be cleaned, badly. Aria hadn't had the chance to change since she had taken off horse back out of that blasted down.
She gave a disgusted look to her dress.
Ew.
Little spots of blood littered on it, and dust was at the bottom.
How positively awful.
Luckily the staff did not question the reasoning behind such odd things, but merely accepted that it was how the Mistress kept things in order.
Who would expect such a lovely woman of being a cold blooded killer?
When the rub was brought from the other room, it smelled of roses, her favorite scent. She had a garden in the back, but it was the middle of winter, far to cold for her loves.
So she had to make due with the scent, and not the feel.
She slipped into the water that had been brought up only seconds ago, now fully naked and gave a slight cry of satisfaction. Warmth. Roses. Bubbles. Soap.. Soap!
Her hands grabbed the bar and began to scrub herself down in almost a painful manor, trying to rid herself of any, and all dirt.
Well, not as disgusting as the heap of flesh and bones she had left behind, that was sure.
Ariaignée slipped her gloves off, careful of not disturbing the beads that hung off of them. That was the last thing she needed. Looking even more dirty and horrible then she was already.
She let out a calm, and overly polite hello to you a young girl that took them for her, along with her hat and coat. "I will be in my room. Alert me of anything, or anyone who comes."
The small girl scurried off with a quick nod and vanished behind a pillar.
Picking her skirts up, Aria began to walk up the steps, being greeted by a few servants, whom she all knew by heart. Her brown hair that she had been so careful to arrange began to come undone by the third floor. Long curly locks of silk pooled down gently around her neck and breasts, giving her a slightly angelic look.
As she walked down the hallways, heading to the last flight of stairs (Why did her room have to be the top floor!?) she paused by a rather large oak door. She should go in and see the man behind it, it had been a while since she had called on him.
But in her current state, the beauty that was quickly turning into annoyance, she figured he would want her to relax. She would call on him later, after she had soaked and calmed down.
And possibly felt more.. Human.
The last steps lay behind her. Thank god.
She nearly skipped for joy to her room.
That would be the day.
-
Her room was dark, only a single candle lay lit. Just like she preferred. Her servants must have been waiting her return.
Oh. They even left her flowers on her nightstand.
If it was the case that they had been waiting for her, she could only wonder what would be for dinner and tea- a hungry growl came from her stomach and she laughed.
How it was silly her body acted human when there really was no need for it anymore.
She had probably just gotten used to his cooking.
Once farther inside, her purse dropped on the seats that had been sunk into the ground and her hand came up to fully untangle her hair, pins falling out onto the ground. One of the servants would clean that up. Her eyes drifted shut as she walked, knowing the exact layout of the room already. A relaxed sigh ran through her body.
How wonderful it felt to be home.
A maid came up shortly later, huffing and puffing as she scolded her Mistress in a kind tone, taking her out of her dress. It needed to be cleaned, badly. Aria hadn't had the chance to change since she had taken off horse back out of that blasted down.
She gave a disgusted look to her dress.
Ew.
Little spots of blood littered on it, and dust was at the bottom.
How positively awful.
Luckily the staff did not question the reasoning behind such odd things, but merely accepted that it was how the Mistress kept things in order.
Who would expect such a lovely woman of being a cold blooded killer?
When the rub was brought from the other room, it smelled of roses, her favorite scent. She had a garden in the back, but it was the middle of winter, far to cold for her loves.
So she had to make due with the scent, and not the feel.
She slipped into the water that had been brought up only seconds ago, now fully naked and gave a slight cry of satisfaction. Warmth. Roses. Bubbles. Soap.. Soap!
Her hands grabbed the bar and began to scrub herself down in almost a painful manor, trying to rid herself of any, and all dirt.
