05/04/2024 03:55 PM  Little Dove-Mother'sLove Often, when Ella thought of her mother, she nestled herself in the dunes, hugging along the ocean's edge. The sun swept and wiped her golden, radiant hair, reflecting burnt silk cascading around her delicate frame. Tiny seashells hidden in the pale butter sands, like hidden treasures from the sea itself. Or messages from the merfolk her Papa had spoken of, and she would pick up each one in hopes of deciphering each word. The sea gurgled and hissed, almost in annoyance that a mortal girl would dare try to read what was not meant for her prying eyes. As it sizzled between her sweet webbing and pearl tip toes, trying to sweep her away in the tide. Ella memories churned and tossed in dreamy white frothy tips as she thought of her mother years ago. When she was just a wee bit. The shimmering star her parents brought to life as they waited for her papa to return home. Her mother packed a picnic basket filled to the brim with fresh fruits and veggies they picked earlier in the day. And buttery breads with a drizzle of sugar and kissed with love on top, and Ella would giggle cheerfully when her mother would tell her this. It was always the same. They would arrive as the sun burst to life over the horizon, stitching magenta's and ambrosia's across an awakening sky. She would share, days before Ella was born, how they fell in love. Or crashed, her mother would exclaim! 'He was a cataclysmic storm!' They would use seashells and make castles miles high with a moot leading into the water and watch it fill up as the two ate ripe strawberries and cucumber sandwiches, awaiting her father's return. He was a sea voyeur long before he had the legs to carry him, her mother would say and studied the stars as one would study their A, B,C's. He knew every story, fable, and long, tall pirate tale, and she tumbled in love with him as he spoke under an inky sky, and the glistening stars echoed in their love as if it were meant to be. They were vastly different in so many ways, but they completed each other's souls. He was of the sea, and she was of the sands and lands he coiled from at times. But both completed each other's lives and hearts song. His scent was always salty and free, and her mother's was rich soil, fresh-cut grass, and honey suckles that grew in the fields surrounding her childhood home. Even though their families were different in varies ways, their moral compass was both pure and good. Her mother's family came from a long line of natural healers and herbalists who had been crafting their own brew for many years. No plant or flower was ever in danger with their tender, loving hands, and it was as if they almost spoke to them, knowing how to grow or cure whatever they encountered. She would tell Ella quite often that humans were the same in this way. No soul was ever past redeeming in her eyes. Through kindness, a gentle hand, and care, even the harshest of hearts could be changed. “Lead with your heart, Ella, and speak with it too. It's our minds that clumsily mess things up at times. It is like having two captains on one ship, and if you do not know when to call upon one over the other, you will simply sink! Or get lost forever in the tide! ---In your mind---" She would lean in and whisper playfully, poking Ella's button nose. Whenever her father spoke of how he met her mother, it was as if he was transcended there once again. He said he had never seen anything more beautiful in all of his life. She was like the sun, but more brilliant and life-giving than this. She had a spirit that illuminated all around her, and he swore she had a halo around her pretty blonde locks when he first saw her on that fated day. If she were the sun reincarnated in mortal form, he would never want to know the night and forsake all the stars he often gazed at. She was searching for lost souls. Children of the seeds, she would call them, and he would chuckle and smooth his fingers in his dark locks.  He watched her from afar curiously as she passed by the most beautiful of flowers, plants for the more homely ones. If she was not dressed as well as she was, her scraping in the barrels would never have caught the attention of anyone, let alone the brute, who was well known for his cut-throat tactics in sales. Let alone how he treated the ladies in their village. But if it weren't for him, perhaps they never would have met. So you see, Ella, he would add, everyone has a purpose and a reason in their life at times. Even humans such as him. Her mother was a beauty with hair spun gold just like Ella's and most in their village had heads of mocha and some had crimson starlights. So the horrid man took notice of Ella's mother when she was fumbling in his barrels and looking for seeds, plants he had discarded earlier that day. Her father drew in closer when he saw the man narrow his eyes with a certain glint. The same he has seen of many sailors who were out at sea for far too long and would first see a lady when they docked. It was filled with malice, lust and unsavoury golden embers marred in the blackest of sea's, and he knew trouble was about to arise.  "Little lady, I do not know what you think you may be doing! But quite fishing in my barrels with your curious hands. If its fishing and a treasure you wish to find," her snickered. “Perhaps you may find one in these pants." The onlookers laughed and chuckled along and closed in on the impending scene they were all too familiar and knew would come. He had more than three pints of the seller to the left of his own setup who made  honey mead, and even sober, he thought he was a ladies man. Ella's mother backed into the corner of the stone wall where the barrel was and slipped behind it for a little distance before she spoke. She, too, had heard of the unethical antics this man played and knew he was no gentleman at all. “These are to be discarded; are they not, sir?” She tried to look brave and raised her chin as she spoke. But the quiver of her rosebud lips gave way, and although she spoke politely, that was all he needed to close in on her. Quickly, he kicked the barrel aside, snacked his large tentacles around her tiny wrist, and at the same time pulled her dainty frame into his masculine grotesque chest. Her breast overflowed, straining against the entrapping of her corset, which only feasted his hunger as his orbs roamed over her plump, delicious flesh. She screamed as tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks like fire burning in deep reds, as her father immediately swept behind the man and wrapped a braided rope he had been fidgeting with to keep his anger at bay. He was fiercely protective of those he loved, let alone damsels in distress. "Release her at once!" He seethed and hissed, tightening the rope around his thick, sweaty neck. “Or so, help me, God, you will be in that barrel and filled with the sea covered and tossed off the dock if you do not!” The man had never been challenged before and knew of her fathers' reputation, although he hardly fought. But when he did, it did not last very long at all, so he released her mother's wrist, and as he did, her father dropped the rope and curled her shivering frame in his arms. He had never felt someone tremble as much as she had. She was like a rare rose in the midst of a storm. Her wrists were bright red and slightly bruised, although the man released her as soon as he asked. He couldn't help but ask her mother to step to the side for just a moment as he knotted his fist, and with a wisping sound, he connected his bone-bare knuckles across the other man's chin. With a hard thud, his body hit the floor, and dust shrouded over him, and it was said he remained in such a way for hours.  Later on that day, he took her on board of his family's small ship and iced her wrist as he told her tales of other lands and cultures he had seen. When he told the story, it was as if he was falling in love with her all over again, as he always smoothed his rough palm over her cheek. Their love only deepened through the years, and in some ways Ella felt the reason they passed away within a year and a half of each other was that her father needed to join his love in the stars above. Ella recalled the night the news of her father's death was brought to her by an old friend of his. She nearly fainted and sought shelter in the attic, gazing out the window and cussing the gods above.  It's when she would see the very first comet she ever saw, and those after never compared to the one she has seen on this day. It's when his tears would dry, her fumbling words of anger and hurt, and she knew they were united once again. As Ella's gentle blues gazed upon the sea now, she thought of all the memories she had the blessing to have in her life. Her mother had taught her to believe in fairy tales. Whose to say they aren't true, she would exclaim! Look at your father and I! On the day she would pass and leave this world, but never her heart, she curled her withering hands into Ella's smaller ones. “Do not fret for me, my sweet lamb. There is no such thing as goodbye. I will just change form. My eyes will gaze upon you every night near the northern star, and when you feel lost, I shall be the gentle breeze that guides your heart. And whenever you are in doubt or need advice, remember that there are two captains in all of us. But lead with kindness and the gentleness of your heart. The gods will pave your way and keep you well always if you do this, my child, so do not shed a single tear. This is not goodbye or farewell. Ma petite rose, délicate. I will see you in time and in every spring's first bloom. When my body is long gone and of the earth once again, I shall bring you the brightest of colours along our gardens you will ever see." She squeezed Ella's hand tight and Ella kissed her cold frail lips and as if she was waiting for this her mother left her life and Ella could not remember the days after. If she slept, ate, or even went outside. But one day she had courage and heard a lark whistling a tune that sounded like a song her mother would sing. She opened the door to their cottage and a white rose stood a lone where she was sure she never planted seeds, illuminating as she had never seen.     0 Comments

04/21/2024 11:40 PM  Ella|Kit-Triggers ~~~Trigger Warnings~~~ ~Little Dove~ She remembered the way the water felt. The heat, pressure, comfort it brought as she now shivered outside her childhood home with nothing more than a bucket and a single bar of soap to wash herself off after a long day of gruelling work. After she dismissed the staff is when the truest of nightmares would begin. Her stepmother told her she was doing her a kindness, allowing her to remain under the roof which was now theirs and Ella should be thankful for the extent of care they gave her in those days.  But now she was told she would sleep alongside of the farm animals in the barn and even when the wintry months would pass, frost pouring over the mountainside in silvery steaks of gold. She clung to the one blanket she was given, made of thin strangles of hay braided as one to keep her dainty frame warm, as she huddled close to the farm animals shivering all night long. The day she dared to escape, taking her father's strong trusted steed into the forest beyond their watchful gaze, is when she encountered Mr. Kit for the first time and embarrassment clouded upon her eyes and face. She was unsure if he noticed, the embedded dirt and muck clinging to the tips of her fingers and toes as she curled them under her paddings and smiled with a warmth she hadn't felt in so long fill inside of her heart and bones. But as she watched his hopeful sparkling eyes and listened to his velvety baritone voice, she could feel in the distance a darker presence beyond the bushing that surrounded the two. It was later that night she would find out to whom the presence surely was when she heard the barn doors open with a flickering light and her two-step sisters and their mother were accompanied by a stocky, short man with lustful eyes. Panic surged upon her flesh and she found her legs, toes curling scampering about as she shivered and kicked up the surrounding hay, the look of wild fearful abandon held in her young deer does eyes. Her stepsisters dragged her dainty frame out from the pile of hay that shielded her from plain sight and laced their manly fingers around her wrist like fleshy shackles as the man drew closer to her side. She was wearing no more than a weeding of a potato sack she wore in her nights as a make - shift night gown. The fabric was thin, and he could see though it as her stepmother raised the lantern on her other side. The fullness of her breasts creamy and white and perched tight red dotting nipples that shivered and wrinkled from her fright. Her soft wavy tummy and the golden thickness of her curvy thighs as his sick twisted gaze licked his lips as he stared at the young lass. She was a ripe succulent fruit, ripe and untarnished, and he was enticed even more s by the wild spirit of the girl before him and groaned as he heard her scowling but with such fear he could taste sweetly upon his thin lips and dazzling in his eyes. She was more beautiful than he remembered from earlier that day, as she held the attention of the young prince's eyes. But he needed her, felt her unbroken spirit and wanted to claim her as his as to why he made the deal with her stepmother that night. He would set up two dowries, one for each of her girls, containing a thousand franks each and for herself the title in which she could choose reasonable of course, given her current standing. Ella was bound and gagged, and the edges of the braided rope tore into her precious pout, like a rosebud being forced open as scarlet dripped at the sides of her mouth. She couldn't scream or even yelp as the braiding cut deeply in, and they tied her wrists and ankles together one over the other and led her to the carriage they would hoist her in. Her eyes shimmered and quaked as tears poured hopelessly over petal cheeks, which only seemed to please the man sitting opposite of her as the carriage rocked and squeaked. His eyes glinted across the carriage at the young innocent flower, corn silk hair tousled, tangled and pieces of heath, cinder held between each strand as if trying to cling to a past life she so wanted to feel again as Ella whimpered, squirmed and tried to break out of the braided rope that bound her wrist. It cut, slithered like tiny vines of a rosebush and she could feel the tearing droplets of blood dripping over the tips of her small hands, and her lips, torn, swollen and bruised felt so defeated, broken and already like an old used doll under the Dukes thirsty lust and demands. Ella looked outside the carriage, hardly a star could be seen through the caroling of tree's, but the moon in its eerily glow multiplied as her eyes shimmered in a thousand tears that clung to the fringing of her dark lashes as she squeezed them tight trying to escape, be anywhere else but where she was. She felt his long slimy finger drag up the curl of her neck and brush away his messy hair as he curled it under her chin and she flinched, yelped as he ordered her to open her eyes to him. Ella didn't want to meet his gaze and let him see the terror, helplessness in her eyes because she knew no matter what she said or how she tried to fight she would have to succumb and surrender her virtue if it appeased his ways. He was the Duke dressed in the most fashionable regal of clothes with a sharp coy look and twinkle in his eyes. But all the villagers heard of the tales of his animistic thirsts and ways as he feed on many daughters taking their innocence then tossing them aside, like used cattle soured milk, names tarnished as no nobleman wanted a torn girl no matter how it happened or entailed. There was no use, no way to stop him, and the more she struggled seemed to appease his thirsty soul. She could hear his uneven heavy breaths heaving from the hollow of his throat as his plump rounded body spilled to the floor of the carriage as she tried to close her legs, braid them together at her knee's, releasing a solemn, broken cry, raspy, shredded for all the saliva in her mouth had ran dessert achingly dry. "Pleaseeeeeee!" she leaned over just enough to try to plead, reason with the man who only gazed back at her with the devil dancing in his eyes and just like so she felt the pinch of its forks piercing dragging like hot coal over her flesh and young innocent soul. Ella's sobs, the way the muck drizzled down her cheeks and over the swollen bruising of her lips, much like a rosebud held under water for far too long, puffy, ripe and so very red caused a gleam, flicker in the Dukes eyes as he flicked his coiled snake like tongue over the thin of his lips and she could feel his fingers in the shadows of the carriage try to force her thighs, the creamy silk of her legs open wide, straining the braided rope that held her crossed over ankles below. The feeling burned over her flesh, rippling and she tried to buckle further back into the velvet of the chair. her back arching upwards like a wild doe trying to break free, escape and perspiration cascaded down the dark vee between her full jutting breast. Unbeknownst to her in that very given moment and because of all her squirming, fretting and tossing in the seat, her two rounded full breast, petrified taunt pointy nipples glistened shined as the moon poured in. This caught the attention of the Duke as he cupped harshly upon each of her breast, toying pinching her nipples so painfully she cried out, screamed and couldnt catch her breath. Her body flinched over and over again as tears stained her already flushed cheeks and lips and her sun drenched hair even lost its glimmer like a fading wild flower with each flick and taunting of the Dukes hands. She begged him to stop! Screamed out to him and wished out loud she rather choose death through her meek wiltering breaths and cries. This stop him momentarily as he snickered coyly and looked up between the butter of her thighs and told her, "my little dove that too can be arranged. But you are going to give me that untouched flower willingly or not it makes no difference to me at all. Your fight, struggle will only sweeten and tenderize your skin making it more supple and delicious for me in the end. So fret all you want golden lass, flare your wings your making it much easier for me seeing your lack of clothes spilling over the seat and your skin. That innocence, your earthly bound cries shattering I will taste it all and the honey between your kept legs." His words, each one, each letter he spoke felt like a hot whip slicing upon her heart and she felt suddenly broken defeated by the many months since her father's death, nightmare bleeding into the very next one. She held her light for as long as she felt she could and her mind thought of the man with oceans in his eyes, glaciers sharp blue and pristine but then somehow melted and coated her with a warmth from inside. She thought of Kit in that moment, and in their short moment together he truly saw Ella and not the name given to her by her step family meant to mock and diminish her spirit. Just Ella, the girl who would dance in the rain and the smokey mist that would cloak around her childhood home in a time that felt now so swept away. She vaguely recognized the castle in the shadow of the inkwell sky as the men snaked their long fingers around her waist and rough fully lead her inside.  She tried her best to fight, wiggling, withering and throwing her dainty frame into their own, but it was of no use as they ended up groping her flesh and the other raised his hand and smacked her two folds. It stung like a million bees stinging and her knee's nearly gave as they hoisted her up, and he took his index finger and thumb and told her to behave like the good girl he knew she was. All she could do was whimper and sob, and could feel her lips swelling at the edges of the rope as they opened the door to a bathing chamber and tore away like savages the remains of her clothes.  She stood there frightened as they unleashed the shackles upon her wrists and ankles too and untied the rope from around her lips as she laced her tiny fingers over her curvy frame. They then circled around her like two thirsty wolves reading their prey as she peered from under her corn silk strangled locks seeing their hungry gaze holding a liquid lust in their gaze. Her tiny face darted and looked from side to side as her pulse soared into the rivers of her chest, but there was no escaping, nothing she could do and was only grateful for the dim lightening shielding most of her frame.  It was then she heard the barking call of their leader, the Duke, scolding them, telling them to leave at once. She was his untarnished angel to pluck, and she needed to cleanse herself of all the farm's filth and muck. The men grunted like wounded pups with their tails tucked between their legs, and the Duke grinned at the poor lass and finally left her alone as the steam rose from the shower he had just made. She was finally alone with a thousand thoughts, not one making sense to the next, and surrendered to the piddling, kneading water upon her flesh as she huddled in the corner, steam caressing her every breath. Even in this desolate time, Ella still held a sun-drenched glow. Just as her mother once told her, galaxies spun and caressed her little soul. Her long wavy strands hugged around her curvy frame and her hips echoed in the sides of her full breasts as she whimpered and slightly swayed. She kept her eyes closed and tight and just listened to nature's white noise of the pellets of water all around her as her mind fell into happier days, wild flowers clipping upon her ankles as she ran free and wild. ~Mr Kit- Sea Voyager~  After a particularly cruel and hurtful incident Ella had with her stepfamily, she rides her horse into the nearby woods to calm herself down. She encounters a stag, fleeing from an approaching hunting party, and her horse takes off in fright while Ella clings on for dear life. Her plight is noticed by a young prince who had just returned from Portugal, he was out hunting with his men, who manages to stop her horse and introduces himself… As Kit, an "apprentice" from the palace. While Ella is charmed by the handsome stranger, whom she does not recognize as the king's son, she scolds him for hunting a helpless animal and requests that he refrain from harming the stag. While taken aback at Ella's odd request, Kit is smitten with her compassionate spirit, but is called back by his hunting party before he can learn her name. At this time, Kit had not been too far off adventures yet, not as far as he would have liked to go… his mind was often on the next destination and what beauties that may reside beyond the sea which made his composure icy and distant. His silence terrified the people he would encounter at court, even his own men, because he was slightly unpredictable in a sense. However, it would be in this chance encounter he had with the beautiful Ella that would make him crack a smile for the first time in front of his company. When he seized her horse, and he finally trotted them to a halt, he had examined that the tears from her eyes had seared the dirt from her tender skin, scorching away any possibility that she was not crying because she was afraid that her horse road off suddenly but that she had experienced pain elsewhere… for this reason alone, Kit was intrigued and tangled his fist around the reigns of her horse to keep her there with him just a little longer. It was also obviously clear that she had no idea who he was to have given him such a scolding. It was refreshing and my how beautiful she was, in her pent-up frustrated state… too many of his subjects cater and now, to his every whim, he just wanted to leave to a foreign land… but here a beautiful subject on his land was completely clueless, lovely, naive, and the fairest he had ever seen. He simply could not take his eyes off her… and apparently neither could someone else. Reluctantly, the Prince parted from the beauty as his men urged him that his father was waiting for him… since his travels he had not visited him once, nor did he really care to… but it would be this behavior of Kit’s that would give the Duke free choice to all the ladies in the land… for the eligible Kit had no true interest in any maiden or lass in his land until Ella… and this alone would cause a visit from the Duke to Ella’s stepmother. The duke was greedy… yet he was already bound by marriage to a duchess.…but that never stopped him from retrieving play things. The prince was aware of this, but he held no interest in any of the Duke’s personal affairs. The pretty maidens came and gone like day and night. Kit was indifferent and plagued by the monarch’s need for him to marry. He definitely wanted his kingdom to be stable and had already came to terms of marriage and that it would be an empty one… one he would leave behind when he went to travel and he wanted to set sail now!! In the carriage poor Ella was being grabbed, examined and violated by the Duke’s hands. He would tell her how filthy she was yet proceeded to lick his fingers and touch her, only to do it again, his hands grabbing her bottom and opening her flesh to see her untouched treasures. His hands groped and kneaded her young breasts until her nipples were painfully protruding, yet he never put his lips on her All this must have been torture for the beauty and had Kit known, he would have had him killed… for even now as the day turned into night, he couldn’t take his mind off the beautiful girl that magically appeared in the forest. He wondered who she was, her lineage, her family history… It was twilight’s hour… poor Ella arrived at the palace, her voice hoarse from crying and her pleas muffled and her body felt broken from being bound so tight and trying to struggle from the Duke’s abusive prying fingers.. which made her thankful of her bondage… but as she was untied and released into the showers she feared for her safety more so than ever and she was deeply wounded by being called such wicked demeaning names… Kit had finished on his ship, setting it up for sail at dawn, to the greenway coast of Iceland… but first he had to shower… he reeked of seaweed and gun powder, fish funk and old leather (lol) and he too arrived at the showers, not caring which he had happened upon, he just needed one! After roping the lines and securing the starboard sails, Kit stared into the twilight, watching the sun sink into the sea. He was out on his own voyage for a week. It was during this time that he remembered the girl in the woods, her sea blue dress, dancing in the breeze like the body of the waves, and her golden blonde hair rippled like the sea-capped turrets kissed by the sun’s last rays. There was an effervescence about the mysterious girl he had encountered. She gave Kit the same feeling he had when he was washed up on shore one early morning after having plummeted into the sea during a storm the night before. It was in those same moments that he felt he had come back to life.... And now he was here, starting into the darkness; only the sounds of the crashing waves remained. The sound of the crashing waves was replaced by the sound of the showers, the many lines of spraying waters hitting the marble floor of the palace showers. Kit disrobed and found it refreshing to peel each sea salted plastered garment off his body and submerge himself into the mist of steam that plumed into a cloud from extreme condensation. As the world of the wild washed away his sore muscles, he could hear a faint crying. He had heard many things in these marble showers, from arguments, heated lovemaking, forced lovemaking, and even lonely lads making love to their hands (lol), but he had never heard crying. Kit maneuvered his way through the mist, as if looking for the saddened spirit that had haunted these showers. It was soon that he happened upon the corner. The source of the crying… it was a girl; she sounded like an injured dove. She looked to be one, too, with her angelic golden hair folded over her back like the cupped wings of an angel. She was small. Why was she here? He wondered. A young girl like her doesn’t belong in the palace showers shared by all the men of this wing. If there was a girl here, she was often occupied by other ladies or even her lover. Kit did jump to conclusions. Perhaps she was in love with one of the nobles, and their flights of fancy became disarrayed, and now the poor creature was dying of heartbreak. Kit approached her hesitantly, and laid a gentle hand on her delicate shoulder, only to flinch when she did tend to hiss and bite back. (Lol) Her yelp was ear-piercing, and she seemed to tremble all over. “You’re right!! You’re right!! I smell BAD!!” It was in that hilarious moment in time that Kit made haste and attempted to soap up every part of his brawny stature, especially the cravass of eternal stench. As he was doing so, he could see the maiden peek at him, her arms folded cross over her lovely legs, and the curtain of her hair shielded the fullness of her face. It was hard to tell which was water from the shower or which was her tears, but he was sure he saw her blink-back tears, and the slight corner of her eye smiled just a little, very little. It was then, in the sudsy mess he was in, with soap foam covering all the right places (temporarily), that he crouched before her, attempting to peel the soft fingers of one of her hands from her body. "Please, you don’t belong in this corner. Let’s get you off the floor. Com'on… Come with me." He was sure this was one of the nobles' doings. He didn’t care who the Duke fxked or played with, but not on his time. Not during this hour, and especially not alone with someone so young. Kit guessed this girl was just of age, with clearly no experience. He wouldn’t know this was his long-lost woodland maiden until all the dirt, soot, mud and filth washed away from her body. He lifted the weakened, shivering maiden up off her feet and carried her to the warming springs, so that perhaps upon submerging her wings, she would feel them again and come alive. The hot spring bathing pool was very warm, and it seemed almost instantly her limbs unfolded as he let her sink into the water. He wasn’t planning on staying with her until the slow reveal made his heart aware that this was, in fact, the woman from the woods. Concern riddled his brow. Everything about her seemed to be stuck or locked into stone. What in the hell happened? He was slowly building rage, especially after seeing the many little scars on her back. His hand cupped her face, as his voice pleaded and called for her to come back. Surely she would recognize him.It's Kit. Don't you remember me? Please miss!?" And he couldn’t help himself, his lips were drawn to her. It took everything he had to not kiss her. She was so distraught, affected by memories and dazed. ~Little Dove~ Ella sat upon the marble tile, the colour of ivory snow, and welcomed the twilight that shone overhead.  The sky was murky and dotted with gray clouds gathering, telling of a storm that would soon make it descend upon the lands below. As the moon illuminated the darkening azure colours filtering along the shower walls, Ella watched the streams of water escape into the drain along the tiled floor. In her mind, she wished she was small just as the field mice in her childhood home, so she could crawl and slip down the drain and leave the castle, her lands once and for all. Since her father's passing, she felt she was slowly dimming, losing all hope, and tonight was no exception. As the Duke laid his slimy, large hands upon her, tearing away her already tarnished clothes, she felt like a primrose from her Mama's gardens being stripped away of her petals and parts of her soul. Even in her wildest nightmares, she never thought her stepmother would go to such lengths of horrors to secure her place, her name and wealth. She couldn't stop her fluctuating, uneven breaths parting between her lips or the tears that seemed endless streaming down her porcelain cashmere skin. Ella had been brave and held courage, goodness for so long she felt she was shattering, breaking like a beautiful stained-glass mural her mother always compared her too.  She barely registered the sounds of footsteps or the squeaking of the handle as someone entered the showers a few feet away. Or even feeling the steam misting all around her, the heat sprinkling of droplets drizzling over someone's flesh.  All she could see was the smokey mountains that surrounded her home, the earthy scents, clouds that poured over the tips and into the valleys below as the shower slowly mystified around young Ella becoming entranced, dazed in this memory as if her mind was shutting down protecting her from the horrors she knew would soon come. Ella refused to wash earlier, feeling the dirt, gravel and blood from their lashing would serve as a reminder and perhaps keep them away, feeling she was tarnished and not worthy of their aristocratic hands. She flinched once again as Kit closed the distance between them, and she could feel her heart peppering louder than even the damning showers around her. But she would not turn away, cast her vision downwards as she braved the shrouded face of Mr. Kit, barely able to make out the reflection of tenderness deepening pools of turquoise she would have recognized at once. It was far too dark, and her mind was riddled in fear as his body, so much larger than her own, even kneeled before her seemed too over bearing, intimidating and when he attempted to curl his long rough fingers under her dainty ones she almost held away, but something about his voice and the lines she could feel upon his padding reminded her of  her father.  The way the rope from the ships would cut along your flesh, tatter in such lengths it was almost recognizable to any seaman. A marking, veining bearing the sea's heart filled grasp as her winds would often furl, and unfurl around their clipped hands trying to mane and tighten the sails in her ravaging breaths. It was then, as she became lost in her thoughts, mind that she allowed him to raise her to her tiny feet and although fear, trembled upon her naked flesh, she curled into she sides of her masculine frame as he led her outside and she could finally see the stars, the moon glistening upon her.  The storm had only moments before cleared and the smell of grass wafted in the air as tiny droplets captured upon the surrounding vegetation, and although she had full vantage to gazing upon this seemingly kind man at her side, she didn't dare to look afraid he may still try to claim her and this was no more than a trick. A game set upon her by the duke. Gingerly he led her deeper into the gardens in a plush enclosed field surrounded by oil lanterns pouring over the emerald strands like tears still cascading down her puffy cheeks in dusky strained black lines that curled into her swan like neck. A longing sigh released from her parting pink lips as he allowed, encouraged her tiny foot to slip into the warm bathing spring as rose petals of all colours danced, pirouetted upon the surface. He gently uncurled his large hand fingers from her dainty one as she suddenly became aware of her nakedness and sunk instantly into the pristine steamy waters, feeling sheltered enclosed by the mist forming around her. Ella closed her eyes as she heard his footsteps slowly melt into the distance as she swam to the far end of the springs where honeysuckles, lion heads and the gently brushing of branches kissed and sheltered all around her. She knew she must leave, still escape, but the water felt so warm, soothing, and she hadn't taken a proper bath since her Papa passed away, being forced to use a bucket and bath in the outside no matter what the elements may have been. For just a moment, she felt like the tiny princess she once was in full bloom in her mother's gardens again and barely felt the rippling of water, Kit sank into the springs besides her as her mind thoughts set her in an almost catatonic state as Kit placed his long finger beneath her chin trying to summons her to the here, now in front of her. Her eyes blinked rapidly as if in pages of a novel, her mother's fairy tales rippled in tears down her cheeks and for the first time in the entire night she was met by the boy, a man with oceanic eyes gazing upon her. Recognition, confusion peppered across her face as his eyes, fringed dark lashes fluttered as wildly as her own like two winged tips emerged in a storm, and she could feel his heated breath bathing upon her skin, as her voice, dry, frail from tears, sobbing whispered his name, "Kit?' Tears streamed quicker upon her porcelain flesh like an old stained mirror as her dark eyes pleaded with his own, and she whispered his name once more, feeling the scratchiness upon her throat as she curled her tiny trembled finger around his single one upon her chin. Her heart sinking and rising once more as she spilled into his furry broad chest and even after his lather, all his scrubbing and fret she could still smell the secrets of the sea upon his flesh as she curled her tiny wet nose into the curl of his neck. He could feel the vibration of her quivering lips, the gentle fawn-like cries as she pulled away from his neck, her eyes shimmering brighter than even the northern lights as she peered into his deep blue sea and placed the small of her hands upon his dark dusky chest. ~Mr.Kit Sea Voyager~ Kit could hardly believe the maiden from the forest was here with him now… did she even recognize him? Why was she so full of fright and petrified to speak or move? He hardly had the nerve to ask too many questions in fear that this was perhaps all just a dream. Just like Ella, his mind played tricks on him, to keep him from reality. He was becoming of age to be wed and take up his rightful place on his throne, but he couldn’t without taking a bride first..: with his father’s growing illness, he was pressured more and more as the days passed by and to escape, Kit would go off on some meaningless voyage in hopes the earth was flat and he could simply just sail off of it. Kit exercised his movements with the young girl with caution. Gently moving the curtain of her golden hair away from her slender shoulder as they both seemed to dance into deeper water. It was warm, calming. The springs snaked into his garden and the scent of heartsease and lavender flooded the hazy evening. The sculpted bushes and random bushes of some rare flowers dotted and framed the lazy river as they both became lost to the world. The beauty before him embodied the unfulfilled desires of every man born into the world since Adam. She was here now with him, with such a glorious display of her body since Eve, Kit realizes in this moment that any other female would have paled like the moon in comparison to this woman, paled like the moon because she was as radiant as the sun. Kit’s pulse quickened in anticipation even as his gut knotted with dread for she has yet to open her eyes. She looked to be sleeping… and he was unable to help himself from touching her, his broad hand slowly and very softly ran downward from the delicate curve of her nape, along the length of her spine, downward to the softness of her hip where his palm rested as comfortably as his eyes rested upon her fair face… “will you not look at me?” Kit requested softly, wonderingly … his features slowly growing more saffron coloured as they were both in their birthday attire. The waters were pristine, glimmering with the reflection of the stars and their own turquoise hue, just as pristine as the woman before him, no matter her scars, and how much he was captivated by her and her mysterious ways. His smile emerged, replacing his concern. He realized just now that this was her way. Mysterious and cryptic. She was a riddle, a riddle he hoped he could spend the rest of his life solving. Suddenly a squat man emerged from the bath-house side door, he was ranting, raving “where is she?! Find her and bring her to my quarters!” The Duke demanded, called to his men-at-arms and looked frantically in the dirty towel hampers and waste baskets. “GRAND DOOK!? Do you mind?” Kit grunted, keeping Ella behind him. “Can I have no peace?” Grand Duke indeed, in Kit’s opinion, the man looked better suited to frolicking beneath a toadstool. “Yo yo…your Majesty!” The Duke stammered, bowed and walked backwards, bumping into a statue, fumble in preventing it from falling and apologized profusely, knowing he had better leave and find his concubine before the prince realized he was bringing peasants into his side of the palace, which kit had scolded him for before as well as the king scolding him… “ I swear he is an imbecile ..” kit shook his head and stared at the Duke adamantly until he was out of sight, in the background he could be heard, frantically looking for his lost play thing and he was getting irate in losing her. Kit could hear the grand Duke stomping upon the dais inside the bath house, the shadow of the bath house glass showed him raising his stubby arms in rage, his voice cracking, choking and squeaking. “An inspiration that one..” kit chuckled, turning around, the water rippling all around Ella, kit would endure her game and begin guessing. “ we are playing Marco Polo!!” Kit acknowledged in excitement. “A Portuguese water game…” though he had never played it naked… “ you say Marco and keep your pretty as shut and I’ll chant Polo.. you try to grab me but mind you I’m without ummm… umm anything but I’m not hold it against you what you grab.. hahah.. 0 Comments

04/21/2024 05:15 PM  LittleDove-SeaOfThoughts Her porcelain slender fingers roamed between his slick blackened strands, reminding her of sea moss brought in from the tide and its moist, salty scent. The comfort she felt around him only drew her closer to him as she laced her creamy leg over his thigh. The churning of the sea could be heard in the distance as a storm loomed overhead and sea gullies cawed and swooped over vessels as if to warn the sailors of the impending winds . White frothy tips crashed into blackened rocks as if angery for being contained, and the sound of servants soft hushed foot steps, clattering dishes as they too prepared for the unknown at the King’s request. There was a time when such weather set an unease in her soul on the days her Papa was on an excursion in the midst of a storm. But he always returned with a smile placed upon his face and a twinkle held in his pristine azure eyes. “It was just a simple heated conversation, my lass,” he would say, seeing the weary expression on Ella’s young face. “Didn’t I tell you the sea was a woman’s heart, and sometimes she lashes out, wanting to be left barren in her days without pesky sailors and their oversized toys sweeping across her crystallized peeks and fishing in her darkened depths?” It was always the same routine when he returned home. First sitting in his favorite old, worn chair. Momma immediately stood by his side with a cuppa of fresh brew as he snaked his arms around my tiny waist and drew me near. He hadn’t bathed, and from the scent, he had not seen a trickling of soap in many days. But he was my father, and I adored his natural scent. Just like now, Ella thought to herself, of Mr. Kit and smoothed her satin cheek over his bare masculine chest. Was it any wonder why she would fall for a man whose pulse riddled in the same tempered breath as her father. A true sea voyeur was a man who matched the mystique of the sea's hidden treasures. A sweet melancholy washed over her mind with many memories, like the churning of the tide. A book of her life, much like the sea itself how it overlaps and pulls back, waddling and revealing in frothy ivory silks filled with laughter and tears as if frozen in time. It was these moments that she held close to her heart when the travesty of her stepmother tried to dim her inner light. Ella was raised on fairytales, and in her youth, she danced with fae in the forbidden forests, where grand oaks were portals to other worlds. At times, she thought perhaps it's best to surrender these childish notions, just as one does when they put away their old toys in a chest, sweeping them under their bed. It was the worst day of her life when the Duke brought her to the castle, and tears spilled from her deer-doe eyes. It was as if every wish she placed upon the stars above scattered around her, and the light many wished to extinguish flickered in dying blues and suffocating embers before he would enter her world for the second time. A crackling whip zigzagged across the sky like the tongue of a dragon, causing Ella the slightest fright as she shivered and tightened her tiny fingers around Kit's sleepy masculine frame. Ella quickly recovered and giggled at her silliness. Wanting a closer look at the storm, she slipped out of bed and placed her small toes over the withered mahogany wooden floors. Each grove, a line deepened with age, told tales of those who dwelled in this room ages ago, as well as the wrinkles it must have had when a man chopped it down. She sighed at that thought and hoped at least it was ending in its stage of life and now served a new purpose from the forest in which it was taken. She instead supported worthy mortals in their comings and goings in life. Her chemise was slightly larger than her slender frame. And as she stood, the lace strapping on her shoulder spilled downward following the flow of her golden ringlets, and the warm misty air caressed her like a mother welcoming her home. She slid the doors leading to the terrace overlooking the wild sea, and as she gazed outward, she saw the stitched darkening sky bleeding into the waters, white tips flaring upwards like a ladies fan. She thought of all the adventures her father and Mr. Kit must have had. Since she was a little girl, she longed for such travels and to visit lands she only read about in the books from the second-hand store in her village. She was always intrigued by the unfamiliar languages, customs, and folklore that other lands held. Ella leaned against the frame of the doorway as her golden tresses spun wildly around her face as she looked at Kit, still asleep, with his lips slightly parted as he hissed in and out of his dreams. She knew they shared the same spirit, one that never was anchored to one given shore. But she also knew his loyalty to his country and people and how he would lay down his last breath to see everyone before even he thrived and carried on. His father's lands had grown in wealth and stature within the last few years, and their fleets were the quickest in all the neighboring lands. Jealousy, envy had seeped over the French alps and weaved into the valleys and streams like a virus as whispers of war carried throughout. There was tension in the air, although unspoken, and it was as if the sea itself was hurling itself against the barricading boulders and rocks too. It feeling as if it had a say in these times, having to swallow the blood and many spirits that lingered over her crescent shores. Ella could never understand such hearts, and she whimpered in thoughts of what may come. Biter greed and darkened hearts rippled upon her soul like sharp thorns whipping against her flesh and reminded her of her stepmother's cold stone heart. Maybe they could escape and live among the fae she danced with, be released from this talons claw, and go to a place where only love and dreams exist and raise a family of their own. 0 Comments

04/19/2024 05:25 PM  Ella&DeadlyBeguile 𝓓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝓑ᴇɢᴜɪʟᴇ, Starter for:   www.roleplayer.me/LordvonRabenmort  Prologue---"It was not the fable's that Ella was used to being told by hermother. This one held a more sinister of sorted details. One's that were barely whispered over a trembled lip as a heavy mist cloaked the ghostly white mansion on top of the hill that seemingly had its own pulse, heartbeat if you stared long enough. The prettiest of flowers and emerald blades trailed the surrounding fields to the doorway leading into Lord Von Rabenmort's home. A deceptive scented sweetness enticed visitors along with his kind glacier like eyes spiriting in screams, pained breaths that would all soon know." Many months had passed since she lost her father and along with him the very spark that once captured her heart and soul---" Even their home that once held such beauty with hand painted petite flowers along the wallpaper faded just as her own mother's eyes had long ago. What was once familiar to Ella seemed more so like a spector of her past. In its remembrance, she could still see the memories that shrouded around varies objects, a vase, her own teddy bear that aligned her bed since she was a knee-high no longer held the warmth, magic's it was had and even the tiny sparrows, cardinals that would sing with her as the morning star knitted over the horizon silenced their once cheerful song. Since her stepmother's arrival along with her two offspring that sounded like hyena's cackling at dusk, a dark cloud much like an evil magician's cloak shrouded over her family's lands. Flowerbeds, the orange orchards her own mother's hands kneaded in for hours on many days working the soil as the sun embraced her loving movements and christened each seed now turned to dust as if the heart of the soil itself abandoned all of their fields. It was as barren, cold as her stepmother's soul and reflected that in which she exuded in her every step and sway and Ella was convinced if evil truly had a bride it would be her stepmother who would be the equal of such a task and could easily claim it. Day, after long gruelling day she worked poor Ella to the bone and in her nights she often had to soak her chapped fingers from all the dusting, scrubbing against the harsh cold tile that wore her knuckles as they gleamed white and crimson through the cracks that would form. Even with all the darkness that clamoured around her in an almost mocking way, Ella's radiance still gleamed like the sacred pearl moon in an obsidian sky and the stars clung to the shimmer of the young lasses gentle soft eyes. Her long spools of golden locks never tarnished or lost its lustre even when it was a dishevelled mess wrapped in ribbons upon her head and whenever a visitor were to arrive at their home she still met each gaze with a warm inviting welcome and took their coats as she escorted them inside. Her mother's words although not spoken since she passed, still lived long after the lips that once belonged to her. Only kindness, love outshines all else and is the greatest of magicks to cast any darkness away. But it was when her stepmother decided to fire her parent's servants, some who had been with their family since before Ella was born, that the young lass finally gave way and sunk to her knee's sobbing with her small hands muffling her whimpers and contesting words. In their wasteful spending the value of their home, belongings and lands that have been in Ella's family for over two hundred years have almost lost all of its worth, and it was on that day that she laid trying to gather the pieces of her heart from the very ground in the form of tears that she was told she had to keep up the responsibilities of the estate as well as work in the mansion owned by the man Ella only knew as Lord Von Vabenmort. "What?" Ella's voice cried out in broken breaths as her stepmother's scowling gaze looked down upon the disgrace of a stepdaughter she saw Ella to be and repeated herself again, but this time kneeled alongside of her and flicked her long disgusting finger under the young lasses chin. "You heard me, girl. Or..." Her eyes traced along her supple curves, the rise of her creamy white breasts that shivered in disbelief and fright. "We can find other means for you to save your family's home, and I am sure I can find a thousand suitors to take up your days...." -A scandalous, evil snarl escaped her venomous lips as she continued her sentence, causing Ella to flinch back as if she was struck by the whip she often used on the poor lass. "And nights if this arrangement does not suit you. The choice, Cinderella, is completely up to you. You can lose your home, and the lands in which I'm sure your mother's spirit still flourishes over can be taken and pounded into the very ground. Then swept away just like the dust that both of your parents are now, The choice I will repeat again darling girl is yours..." The last of her words spilled mockingly over her curled lips as she stood, turned and walked out of the room and Ella swore even in the light a darkness never left her side. Ella laid still slumped over, feeling defeated as her gaze fixated on the one single candle flickering dimly upon the cedar block table in their kitchen. Only one... Her stepmother even restricted this much, not wanting to waste even one single candle when she said we had no business being awake in the nights. Those were the times that ghosts, and long forgotten ancestors ruled over the lands. Suddenly she could hear the whispers of her childhood friends speaking of Theo and the mansion along the side of the hill and how even the roots of the tree's rose above the soil as if they were veins blackened by the sun or evil that penetrated the grounds no one truly knew. Her choose left her mouth dry, her mind spinning at the evil she knew and possibly the one she did not and a forbidding feeling trembled upon her incandesce flesh, but she knew she hardly had a choice. Much like most things in her life now, nothing was really left up to her. It seemed the trail covered once in marigolds, hopes and reachable dreams were now littered in dirt. Slowly, she flattened her small hands along the hard, cold tile flooring and stood tall, but sha kingly against the dying embers of the candle before her as she wiped away her wet nose and blow it out at once retreating to her bedroom in the attic for the last few hours she would know in her childhood home, although Ella was not told the whole truth of the arrangement her stepmother had made. The next morning, although the morning star sliced through the curtains in a warm golden haze, Ella couldn't feel anything but a bone chilling coldness seep over her soul as she packed a sachet of the few remaining things she owned in these days. Her stepmother was more than happy to oblige the young lass with the only carriage and horse they owned now and this only trickled fear more so upon Ella as she shivered with each rock, boulder the dusted off the uneven dirt road. Soon they would arrive at Theo's mansion and without warning her stepmother tossed her belongings along the dirt road and alerted the coachman not to make one more move as he began to climb off his seat to help Ella down the buggy's steel steps. A soulless smirk and a blackness, crimson ribboned in her stepmother's eyes as if devils were dancing, chanting telling tales she once heard as a child and Ella couldn't resist as she climbed backwards out of the carriage, pleading with her stepmother, "Please? I'll do anything. Allow me to come home, and I will work double what I do now?" Tears steamed down her face and she was met with just a long extended finger pointing to Mr. Theo's door and Ella knew it to be no use, and she knelt down shakingly and picked her belongings up and was met with the coachman's sorrowful gaze that nearly broke whatever courage she needed to muster her legs to walk along the path leading to his door of the unknown. She barely had the capability to raise the dragon claw knocker that made such an ominous sound and softly breathed the words, "Hello." As she awaited for Lord Von Vabenmort to open the door but secretly hoped he wouldn't at all.... Ella had never seen blackness flicker in such a way as it did in her stepmother's eyes. It was as if every dark tale, the very opening of hell's gate, glinted in the shadows that were held. When she first mentions Lord Von Rabenmort's name and the "work" Ella would do in the upkeep of his home. Her lips curled up in the most unnatural way, and it felt worse than the lashing Ella took in most nights by her stepmother's hands.  Her life was once a fairy tale of sorts, but since the passing of her father, each page and chapter has withered away just as the dryness that overtook her family's once lush lands. That glint, spark in her stepmother's eyes—could it be there was a worse fate than the one she suffered now at her hands? She quivered in such thoughts but tried to be brave, just as her mother once taught her, because it hardly mattered these days. Her life was not her own anymore, and she felt like a star without a constellation to belong in. The meadow mice that shared her quarters seemed to sense the foreboding future as they looked upon Ella with tear-filled eyes and clutched to each other as they waved goodbye to the young lass they hoped they would someday see again.  As the door creaked open on hinges that seemed well oiled and should not have made a single sound. It was not the rubbing of metal upon itself that Ella heard, but a warning: spirits crying out, telling her she must go; turn around now! It felt like a talon's claw scraping along her delicate porcelain flesh, but she knew she hadn't a choice. Her stepmother already made the arrangements, and she was not only made to help with the upkeep of the Baron's mansion, but she must stay for a few weeks and be his guest. Many tales were told in hushed tones, as if fear were placed upon the teller's eyes. If they spoke too loud, or the zephyr wind carried their words, the Baron would soon come from them too, and they would become part of the folklore that haunted these lands. Ella gentle stepped over the threshold and watched her own foot as if it did not even belong to herself, and although the scent of the foyer was pleasant with an array of an almost unnatural red rose, it sickened her because it smelt too sweet, too perfect, or too ripe. Whatever it was, it felt like a shrouding of a more pungent odor hidden in the floor boards or perhaps the walls; she was not sure, and as she stepped further inside, the door slammed suddenly and swept up the long red carpet that ran endless along the mahogany floor. Ella yelped and clung to her sachet of belongings, then bit her bottom lip. She would not cry; she would not shake even a muster. No. She would be brave, and the stories she heard were just stories passed on from one generation to the next. In truth, it couldn't be real. For it would mean the Baron was not the age he appeared in the many paintings she had seen. How could the stories be true, unless? Ella gazed around at her surroundings and noted almost right away the intricate detailing of the surrounding wallpaper. It almost looked like the same rosettes her mother would paint on canvas for her when she was little, but these seemed old, even though the inside of his mansion looked like it was perfectly kept. A time capsule from a much earlier time. As she traced her soft fingertips along each detail and each line, her cherub lips trembled as she felt pain and tormented souls between the crevices and in her mind. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 𝓓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝓑ᴇɢᴜɪʟᴇ, Response   Any sense of time passing was close to non-existent at the von Rabenmort mansion. Neither the rays of the sun nor the glow of the moon ever effectively penetrated through the constant thick mists cloaking the grounds with their chill, moist embrace—giving the impression of an eternal silver twilight during daylight hours. Flowers and plant life did not bloom or wither. Fauna and insects did not age or die, nor were they able to reproduce. This all were effects of a curse. An ancient curse stirred awake by humanities lusting curiosity for the perilous forbidden after a many centuries-long slumber, resulting in the estate being dragged in-between the worlds of the dead and the living. A lesson, perhaps, that humans should not fiddle with what they did not fully understand. It had become a place of nightmares fed by hatred, pain, lies, deceit; a concoction of poisonous insanity dripping down the walls and ceilings—affecting all imprisoned within, one way or another. The rebirthing of all this darkness had been influenced by a single book the master of the house had one day found when exploring a newly discovered hidden passage behind one of the hearths build inside the large manor. The book was written in Latin, a language tutored to him in the early years of his pre-adolescence. It was clear from the first moment he picked it up and opened it, that the pages were old, possibly even ancient. The ink, however, appeared as fresh as if it had met with the paper merely yesterday. This fact fascinated the Master. But the words themselves, the horrors they spoke of, fascinated him even more. Little by little they seeped into his soul, leaving his heart as sunless and cold as the darkest of voids, stirring a turning of tides—the curse—into motion. It was very clear to Madonna that the man was easily swayed by his sinful desires, though, in those days, he kept it successfully a secret from the public, his soul not yet fully tainted by darkness, yet ever present from the moment he had taken his first breath. Perhaps she so effortlessly saw the truth of his heart since it wasn’t so different from her very own. Is it not that, those of the same kind easily recognized each other? She took delight in dipping her fingers in his private affairs, cautiously exploring. What she found thrilled her to the core; an unhappy wife who resented her husband and let the pains of her heart (caused by his many beatings and stinging words rolling so mindlessly off his tongue) freely weep upon the caring hands of her father-in-law until the latter had died, his secret perverse acts with fellow men and female whores of a private underground sex club. It was she, Madonna, who hinted to Mrs. Rabenmort of Theodore’s unfaithfulness. The lack of interest in bedding her—his wife—had raised questions in her fragile mind before, and she did not find it hard to believe the shocking soft-spoken words of Lady Tremaine, for it made complete sense. She wasn’t sure she would take action, seeing as she had a sinful secret of her own which, if revealed, would undoubtedly send Theodore into a mad frenzy. Her marriage with him, as miserable it made her, still was better than being seen as a ‘fallen’ woman, an unfavorable reputation no woman of high-status wanted to obtain. However, one night, they had a terrible fight, and she betrayed herself by yelling out the truth of their children; that they were not his but fathered by his very own father, that she had had a liaison with the late Mr. Rabenmort during the earlier years of their arranged marriage—a result of the lack of love she received from Theo. So the children, disturbingly, were in fact his half-siblings. For a moment he was lost for words, his visage bearing an expression of genuine shock; his lips apart, his deep blue hues wide and wild like an owl’s, pupils manipulated into dilation by a prior intake of something intoxicating. Noting his state, which only enraged her more, she daringly hit him then with her truest thoughts on him, such as that he was a poor excuse for a gentleman, or a man in general. A mistake, for it moved him into action like a charging soldier on a battlefield. “You haven’t seen nothing yet of who I really am, you filthy slut,” he hissed hotly in her face, the smell of whiskey riding on his breath. He had roughly grabbed a handful of her hair to yank her head back, forcing her to meet his icy gaze as a cry of pain left her throat. “Oh yes, you’ll come to beg for my forgiveness once you got a decent taste of the horrors that reside within me. Making you shudder with utter fear before my feet, which is precisely where you belong.” He paused his tongue. Her whimpers of fright filled the sudden silence—a strange delight to his ears, he suddenly found. Rushes of intense emotions and happenings were a drug to him. A nasty smirk slowly spread across his handsome but terrible visage then, a raging fire presenting itself within his eyes. Abruptly, the fingers of his free hand seized her chin, after which he continued: “Ones wife should at all times obey her husband. And yet you dared to besmudge my name with your treachery, and that of the children, whoring yourself out to your husband’s very own father.” He tugged at her chin, bringing it closer to him so that their faces almost collided. Was that a glimmer of madness within his eyes? “It is not I that shall burn in hell forever, my darling wife. No, it will be you.” With a hard shove he released her from his grip, sending her sprawling to the floor with her face moving merely inches from the hungry flames of the hearth-fire. She thought it her imagination that the flames seemed to lean toward her, like an unperceivable wind blowing them in her direction. The true forces behind it, however, was the mansion itself, and whatever had once nested itself there and ever since remained. It lusted towards the words spoken by Theo, a promise laying within. Yesss, it responded as an alluring whisper in his ear, give her soul to me. I will make your wish into reality. All you have to do is find the right passage in the book, perform exactly what is written, and vengeance will be yours.                                                The events of that very night spun the last threads of the curse into completion, a total domination. And not even Lady Tremaine had foreseen this outcome. Perhaps if she would have known the possibility of it, she wouldn’t have done what she did. But not for very long did she let the little regret she felt linger within her thoughts. Maybe it was what they deserved, what was meant to be. She merely gave their already sealed fate a little push. Tragedy though came to strike her eventually too with the sudden passing of her husband, which presented her with no other choice than to marry an acquaintance of the late Lord Tremaine—Ella’s father. Ella, who was so perfect, so lovely and good-natured. So different from Madonna’s own daughters, who continued failing her at every opportunity, puting her and themselves to shame. The bright light of her stepdaughter outshone all, which only made her, Drizella and her other daughter Anastasia abhor every fiber of the girl’s being. So, after Ella’s father left his daughter by slipping into his final but forevermore slumber, leaving Madonna once again widowed, she began abusing the power she had over the girl. What right did Ella have to be so perfect, while her very own daughters, who despite born of pure nobility, ever appeared lesser then. It was time to put Ella in the position she belonged; that of a servant. It was after some time however, that Drizella came up with an even better idea. To remove the unwanted girl out of their sights, yet still have her suffer. “Maman,” Madonna’s eldest daughter spoke at dinner one evening, she once more having complained about her stepsister. “Oh Maman, do you remember the horrid stories about that one mansion on the side of a hill?” A dark excitement in her voice. “Did not you mention once they were true? You must send her there! I believe a more horrible fate does not exist.” She cast a glance at her sister, suddenly booming out her awful ear-screeching laugh as if the words she just spoke were the contents of a joke, though she was absolutely serious about them. Anastasia joined her, a sound as unsavory as the other. Not unlike two hens madly clucking. “That’s enough!” Their mother yelled above the cacophony, immediately bringing silence to the room. Regaining her calm, she said: “For once you seem to speak with a brain, Drizella. It’s not a bad idea, I must confess.” Madonna’s eyes darkened, came unfocused as they stared into the distance—her mind in another place. “Indeed, not bad at all.” Theodore had never learned who disclosed his secrets to his wife. Which worked greatly in Madonna’s advantage, for if he knew, her wicked plans would never become a reality at all. Letters were exchanged between the two, in which Madonna inquired about the Baron’s health, and mentioned the time they once spend together, so that he hopefully remembered her face. Part of his response read: Dear lady, I fear my mind is not as bright as how it used to be. Yet, I believe I do recall the memories you speak of. My wife, children, they left me abandoned. The past few decades I have been incapable in leaving my home. Loneliness is therefore a heavy ache upon my heart. Since you decided to write me, I would be greatly pleased if you were to consider paying me a call. Much has changed last time we met in the flesh. I desire to tell you all about it. Well, what has not yet fled my thoughts. The days seem to only blend into each other. Perhaps you could make me remember the parts of the past that have gotten lost to me. I have always been fond of your company. Almost all lies, of course. He merely sought to trick her into his deadly trap. Another soul, a step closer to his salvation. Oh, he would have a guest soon alright, but not the Lady Tremaine. She was not so foolish as to tread upon those accursed grounds herself and meet her end by whatever evil had dominated it. No, as planned Ella would go. In a returning letter she told her own lies; she was indisposed, too unwell to travel, and would send one of her maids instead to compensate for it, so that he both would have the company he asked for and have another help for the household. This Theodore did not mind. A soul was a soul. Though he did not dare to imagine that the maid’s was as pure as a newborn’s—without even a slight trace of sin. When the girl made her way up the tracks leading to the manor on the agreed date, the book became aware of her presence, and so did Theodore as it whispered about her arrival into his ears. Our new guest is almost at the door. Make it worthwhile. I too am starving for entertainment. Concealed by the shadows of the foyer, he observed Ella’s entry into his house. Not yet would he make his presence known. First, he wanted to study her from afar. Her breathtaking beauty was the first thing he noted, which lead to a musing of how the expressions of horror and fright might transform that lovely visage. It was then when the front doors flew shut—the terrible loudness of it cascading off the walls of the large room. That jump, how delightful. He could not help but smirk darkly with pleasure. He followed her gaze. Ah, yes, the painting depicting the Master. Aside from the impressive staircase leading to the first floor, it was perhaps what most easily drew the eye of one who found themselves here for the first time. First and only time these days, as a matter of fact. Theodore continued watching her with eyes unblinking, and when she trailed her soft but callused fingertips along the wallpaper adorning the walls, he felt a slight stirring of lust within himself. There was a sensual gentleness to how she touched it. Her brow suddenly seemed to furrow in pain. Was she perhaps clairvoyant? If so, she might possess the ability to altar Theo’s existence, of which he was unsure he should feel mad or glad about. How things currently were, he had become very used to it. The toying, the tormenting, the beguiling, the taste of heart’s blood upon his tongue and the delicious ecstasy of taking a life... No, she will only deprive you of what is your only means of experiencing pleasure—of feeling something. You do savor in these games we play. Without it, you would truly feel damned. The one we serve has the only true power to give what your heart yearns for. Do not forget my promise. A mere human being cannot help you. Only their souls are of use to us. Remember this. “Looking for anything in particular?” The Baron’s toneless voice came from somewhere close behind Ella, abruptly disturbing the tranquil stillness. 0 Comments

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03/16/2024 04:47 PM  TaleOfElla-ByTheBook She was raised in a modest cottage on the outskirts of the king's Palace, and oil lanterns shine. With her mother and father dotting upon her and King's and Queens were the tiny meadow mice and farm animals she cared for in her younger life. She had a free-spirited soul. That could find beauty even in the darkest of nights. A tiny candle, always lite, flickered in each corner of her mind. She was much like her mother. Whose soul Ella thought was made of the wishing flowers surrounding their home and read to Ella and taught her great literature and told her of all the magicks of the world. She told her that the earth has a voice, as do the animals all around. If you had the heart to listen and lead with kindness instead of a darker sound. Her mother was dainty, and delicate, too. Not more than a farm girl who barely went to school. But when she met Ella's Papa, he saw the beauty beyond her locks in the lass and took it upon himself to spread his wings and teach her the written word, and reading at last. Now that they bore a daughter, her mother was firm in raising her right. Teaching her the same way Ella's father taught her how to care for the farm and the daily tackles of life. Ella felt as if her life was ripped out of a page from one of the fables her mother would read. Her father, a merchant, always bought back exotic scents, fabrics and trinkets for his beauties every time he had left them through the years. They were not poor, or rich by any means. But they never had a need or whim that couldn't be provided by her father's hands, and they even had servants to help with their daily needs. But the servants were not looked upon as other people would treat them. They were equals, families and to be respected at all times, and they looked upon Ella as a little Princess song dove and when she would question, "But I do not wear a crown?" They told her, and her mother would echo too; a crown is just a material want. Her crown came from the stars above and was placed on her by her gentle heart. On the day of her mother's passing, Ella felt a shift in the air long before. In the weeks and months before she became bedridden, she had slowed down her daily chores. Of course, Ella never minded and didn't view the farm as chores or work. She felt, just as a person, that it was alive in spirit and deserved equal love and care. But she could feel her mother's light dwindling, losing the fragrance light in her eyes, and even though her Papa denied it, to himself and her, Ella felt it in her heart. That early afternoon in spring was kissed by an unusual winter chill, and as she was picking raspberries and strawberries in the field, a crisp, strong wind blew. All the wishing flowers she always thought of as her mother's soul, each one a molecule making up her mother's heart, suddenly blew away like tiny fairies trying to escape the pending storm.  Ella's small hands and smaller finger pressed upon her rosebud lips, and she dropped the wicker basket she held, and the berries poured over the emerald fields. She sprinted back to her cottage at once and rained through the long butter wheat fields around their home. Each strand whipped her creamy porcelain skin, lashing much more than the flesh it bore. Tears weltered in her forest-colored eyes, and her dark lashes splayed like tiny feathers, each one holding a tear that sparkled like the jewels of her mother's martial ring. As soon as she entered the door, she called out, "Papa? Mama? Where are you?" It was then that her father, with his head shrouding downward, would come into the room. She could see the shadows holding to his silhouette and not one of his frames upon the wall, and she felt the heaviness and tears as he finally explained to Ella her mother was sick and would soon depart. Her eyes swelled with a million tears, equating the rivers and streams around her, and like the floodgates of her soul, she poured and cried, and her father pulled the golden lass into his chest. Once she calmed down just enough, she walked into the room where her mother lay. She was cold, and her father had an array of puffy white blankets that looked to Ella like a chariot to heaven's gate. Even sick, her mother radiated like a stolen sacred flower from the garden of Eden, and as she kneeled besides her mother, her eyes flickered open, pouring in her crystal azures with such depth. Her voice was brittle as if it would break, but she struggled past it, wanting this moment with her daughter before she would pass, and one of her last words to Ella was, "Have courage and be kind, for there is much braver as this, and a heart that leads in such a way can never go wrong, and happiness will fill your days." As the last words spilled from her lips, her cherub face would slump to the side and at that moment, the sun yawned its goodbye and slipped into the horizon below as Ella wept, cried and her father gathered the little dove in his arms.... Years with her father-- For many years, it was just the young Ella and her father, along with the servants, that graced their Cottage home. But both kept her mother's memory alive and read the same fables she once read to her. Her father did not know of them all as often as he was away on business abroad, and when Ella would read to him, he would see the same eyes and gentle voice held in her mother's song. He was so proud of his little dove and the young woman she was becoming. She took it upon herself to tend to the animals, and gardens, the same ones her mother planted from scratch. It was a tiny area on the side of their home that her father's family swore would never bear a single plant.  Her father, who inherited the home, never questioned his own father's word and had admiration and respect for him in all of his father's days until his soul passed from this world. But his wife, when he was away on travel and the wild magical spirit that she was, planted an array of English flowers, the same ones that graced the palace gardens she adored, and when he came home, you would think he would be brass, but he loved his wife very much and pulled her into his arms. . Ella contained the spirit of her mother and, from him, his wisdom and logical sense. It was a contrast and ribbon between the two that made up Ella's unique spirit and heart, and she remembered her promise to her mother and repeated it each day, letting kindness lead her from the first morning rising star. Years would pass, and her father would long to love again, and Ella could see it in his eyes.  One evening, as they sat in his study reading her mother's favourite poems, he had shared with her his wishes to marry a woman and her two youngest daughters. Ella loved her father so very much and embraced him, seeing the fret and worry upon his face. "Father, I do understand and marry you should, for even each petal of a rose is never the exact shade. In life, I believe Papa, loves can be this way too and the most beautiful of roses I have ever seen, "-giggling petting the nape of his neck as she sits upon his lap- "Are the in-perfections that make them ore beautiful still! So marry Papa and love once more! I shall love them too and embrace them whole!" The arrival of her step-mother, sisters and her father's untimely death--It was almost five years to the day since they lost her mother's soul and everything seemed to be perfect once again. Even spring broke into winter's lavish hold. The flowers in her mother's garden were rising under the sleepy soil below, revealing their kept mesmerizing colours in an array of roses, tulips and marigolds. Tiny bee's began to swarm and buzz, flickering their silvery wings in the streaming sunlight, and this would be the day that Ella would meet her father's new bride. She had two daughters, she was told, one only a year younger than the next. Both had hair with tight ringlets and both were well-educated, or so it would seem. But as Ella tended to the garden, she heard the hoofs of two heavy steeds. All of a sudden, a dark, luminous cloud made its descent in an almost perfect morning sky. It came in the form of a woman dressed in the latest of fashions and two daughters at her side.  They had welcoming smiles and pleasant voices but the gentleness and sincerity never seemed to touch the shine in their eyes and this is where Ella's mother always told her, that the very essence of truth was written and could not hide. With graciousness and a welcoming soul, Ella excited greeted all the ladies at once and dusted her small hands on her apron before shaking the hands of them all. She noticed right away the coldness she felt as soon as she was next to them. But she shook it to the side and gave them a tour of their beloved, cherished home. One by one they picked apart this or that and even their cat rudely tore into the couch. Ella tried to politely brush him away, but he turned and hissed at her with an evil eyes. Days would pass, and even weeks, and she could still feel the chill in her bones. The cottage even seemed to lose its heart as they rearranged her mothers, pictures and seemed soul. This made poor Ella, tear almost daily, but she continued to try to be gracious and kind and each one of her mother's belongings in the attic where the meadow mice would often hide. Nearly a month would pass, and her father made the announcement that he would have to leave for just a few days. A new ship would port a few towns away and carrying the latest of spices and herbs. Being the kind-hearted man that he was always, he asked each girl what they would like for him to bring back. All spoke of extravagant things, but when not came to Ella, she wanted just one thing. She asked, "Father, I wish for a simple branch. The first one you see on your travels after leaving our town. I wish for you to keep it in your pocket close to your heart for you can always feel me, and think of me in every mile. Then upon your return please give it to me for it will be blessed and priceless having to carry you back home to me. Please, Papa? It's all that I wish for. I just want you back home, and with as much speed as the sun and the moon." It was nearing two weeks, and Ella's heart grew weary with much fright and equal fret. As the other's his new wife and her children rearranged their old cottage, transforming it and erasing her mother's very spirit. They even took down the most beloved portrait her father had spent a month's pay to have done. It was when Ella was barely a sugar plum and only reached as far as his father's knee long, and they sat for over three hours long. It was beautiful, and because it was painted with the finest of French oils, it never lost the lustre of colour in any way. Her mother's angelic eyes still held that glimmer, as though it were the very first day. It was nearly twilight when the news would come, delivered by an old family friend. It was an envelope with the contents of just her branch and the words of the man standing at the door. Ella's knees shook and gave way, and she pummeled to the ground, whimpering and sobbing, crying out why, as a puddle, a river formed all around. The others around gasped in annoyance, more concerned about how they all would survive, as Ellie pulled herself to her knees and stumbled up the stairs with her heart at her side. She sought the attic to rest on that very last night. The one that would redefine her entire life and couldn't sleep, or barely move as she cried in the pitch dark. The very next morning, when she awakened, the world seemed so different and foreign in her eyes, although she was still in her home, with the meadow mice, the King and the Queen at her side. She could feel a shift in the air that chilled her to the bones no matter how many layers she wore, and she nearly jumped, startled, when she heard a pile of dishes shatter on the floor. She gathered to her feet and chased her own shadow, or so it would seem, into the kitchen, where her stepmother's voice soared and roared. She was dismissing all the servants, cooks, and gardeners who never asked for too much. They were more than just hired help; they were the remains of Ella's family, a life she was losing as her stepmother barked on. Her teeth looked like sharp, jagged knives, ripping away each page in her life as she watched them scatter along the floor like burning feathers right in her sights. The staff all turned to Ella with tears staining down their cheeks and sniffling noses as they all shared the same fear of what would happen to the fair beauty they watched sprout up. Some even offered to stay with nothing more than food, shelter and a bed. But her stepmother insisted she couldn't even afford this and asked them to leave at once instead. More parts of her heart were taken from her that day, but still, she braved a smile and hugged each one of them, thanking them for being a part of her life. She gave them each a token from their home. Something they could look upon and remember, and I made them promise each other that they would send telegrams wherever they would land. They waved goodbye, and she held her head high in the thought that they were meant to go to this place in time. She was sure, because they all led with their hearts and knew to always be kind, that they would find a better place, even more so than this, and that their lives would be wonderful and sweet. These thoughts alone kept her heart feeling light, in spite of the darkness she could feel. Her stepmother's answer to the lack of help was to pour it upon poor Ella's back, and as much as she tried to resent this fact in caring for her childhood home, and her father's before him, she just couldn't do it. She looked upon it as an honor to be given such a big responsibility, and although some may view it as cruel, Ella tried to look upon it differently. Perhaps she was raised with less of a mother than she was blessed to have. Or maybe she simply did not know better, not wanting anything in her life. Whatever the reason, Ella was sure that one day her heart would soften if she just loved her beyond, and so, she did just this to spite all the daily harshness she would face and held a smile on her lips, eyes and heart. In her days, she made their breakfast and cleaned and hemmed in between. As well as tending to the farm animals outside, but this was the better part of her days. Ella finished her days all the same, and when the moon pinched up high in the inky sky. A ghostly apricot, pale and white, shimmers like a million stars. Her mother would tell her this was the best time to garden, when the roots were sleepy and still. She would add to their bedding the rich birthing soil and tuck each one gingerly in. At times, a winter chill would kiss the air pouring along the hills and the smokey mountain sides, like a vapor cascading downward over the tips of what looked like a saber tooth tiger. She would rip a piece of her hemming and wrap it around its frail little stems, warming it up just enough, so it wouldn't falter, shiver or bend. But some days, even for the little dove, her life would bear down much harder than others, and it was then that she had someone besides her who would cradle her and read her stories, as her mother once told her. On this particular day, just after breakfast, young Ella nearly lost her grasp. One of the field mice, whom she looked upon as family, was nearly eaten by their cat. He was so close, in fact, that the tiny mouse had teeth marks dragged across his fur. It's when Ella first brought him to safety in the attic, which she now shares with them. Then she reached for her shawl and headed to the stables, tears streaming like wildfire down her face as she leaped, twisted her tiny frame upon the steed, and galloped far, far away. Her eyes glazed over, and all she could hear was the steady gallop of the steed she rode upon. It was the very last part of her father's life. She refused to allow her stepmother to sell, trying, as she would say, to raise money to support them all. Ella knew he was worth some money as he was an Arabian pure raven hair steed and still very much so in the prime of his life as they melted beyond the carved-out path and into the denser darker of trees'. The soil blackened in this part of the forest as it was hardly touched by men, and the tree's had what almost looked to be decorating vines circling and twirling up the rich brown bark. Its branches of various kinds—oaks, maples and willows—grew wildly along the overgrown emerald-slick grass, and as her vision cleared, she could see many nests belonging to varying birds dotting along the edges of each branch. The air was so moist with a sweet, earthy scent that it invigorated her young mind and soul, and it almost had the power to fade away all the pain that she truly hid so well. But even this she knew had a reason to. Maybe the cat was neglected and not fed breakfast or yesterday's meal and was just too hungry out of sorts and only saw her friend the mouse as a savory meal. If he hadn't, then she would not have found this enchanted forest hushed so far away from the normal path she would travel, and she wouldn't have seen all the beauty around her if he hadn't made such a haste and mess. That's when she heard branches crackling all around her, or at least this is what she thought, as Ella turned her cherub face and brown spilling eyes all around, looking to where that sound could have been had. It was then that she finally locked eyes with an animal as gentle as he was soft. His fur was a dusting of crimson golden strands with little specks of wishing stars. He had two antlers so twisted and divine that she thought in his kind he must be royalty and his two black stones, onyx eyes, wide teardrops, and long lavish laces blinked almost frightened and petrified, which confused Ella, for she thought herself to be meek and unguarded. That's when they both shivered, hearing a hunting horn in the not-so-far distance and the galloping of many steeds sounding like the toppling of a tree's closing in the distance. Her heart sounded just as loud, and she felt it ripple inside as her lips perched tightly in fear as she gazed at the gentle one before her, and raised her voice, terrified for him." Go! You must run, and do so quickly; they are not too far behind us! I will try to distract them and if I can, but please, you must depart from this side of the forest!" She swore she could see him bow and blink with a single tear in his eyes as he leaped over a thick branch in front of him and just as quick as he appeared, he was gone, and she sighed, feeling a cool sweat bead upon her. A smile perched her trembled pink lips and her young breast rose above the powder blue bodice and deep bone lining, and she couldn't help but to giggle now, knowing this was yet another reason for that cat to act as he did before her. If she hadn't been in that forest, maybe the deer would have perished if the huntsman had found him and instead of roaming free he would have been on someone's plate before night would befall upon him. She was so relieved and suddenly felt so light, as if the entire world light up around her, and just when she was ready to find her way back home she heard the hoofing of a horse behind her. Ella tugged upon her steed, the leather strapping around the nape of his neck, turned and was faced with a nobleman on a grand horse in front of her. At that moment, the wind slightly picked up, and the different shades of green leaves swirled around all around them, and the ones that fluttered on the branches rustled in nature's song as they both stood gazing at each other. Her sun-drenched wheat coloured tresses spun as wildly as they did in the fields around her childhood home, and the fluctuating rise of her ample breast like two white clouds straining in her bodice before him. His eyes looked like the precious silk laces she kept on the side of her bed, wet and pristine, capturing all the light around him like seeing magical mirrors held to a certain haze. The curtaining of his black spooling hair and wavy locks framed his chiselled cheeks and the top of his thinking forehead as he looked as confused as she to find another soul in this depth of the forest. It was then that Ella would see his sword and hunting horn and her face, moments before soft and inviting, scowled at him with squinting eyes and a perfect pink pout transforming quickly in front of his eyes, and she asked, "What did he ever do to you, Sir, to be hunted and scared in his natural home? His poor heart is nearly giving way to fright. Could you please spare him some kindness and let him go and be in peace, leaving you and your men behind him?" She paused and tugged her bottom lips in the pearl of her teeth and nervously fretted about her steed and gazed behind her to make sure he really departed, and, thankfully, she couldn't see him. As she turned back to the gentleman, she was captured in his eyes once again, but she tried to keep her head held up to give confidence to her every word. In a much softer tone than before, she spoke again and petted her horse's thick black mane. "You know, Sir, sometimes it takes more courage and bravery to show kindness in a world seemingly built for anything such, especially when you truly do not have to."   0 Comments

03/12/2024 01:24 PM  Ella-MermaidHeart Prologue--How she longed for these days to once more be instead of the dreadful ones in which she knew now. It seems like lifetimes ago these memories she had, and her heart so longed for them now. If only she had a wormhole to climb through or a golden chariot to lead her to the heavens gate. She would be with her mother and father again and her mother could garden as her and her Papa would make their grand escape! Ella twirled the tiny seashell necklace between her fingers as the world began to awaken to life. The morning star was flickering between wispy clouds in a painted azure blended sky. The cottage was still quiet as her stepmother and stepsisters slept rather late and all you could hear were her nice friends scattering around collecting crumbles of food that lay. She rolled upon her hips and gazed at the window, two shimmering eyes holding the tapestry of time and her long woven corn silk hair curling around her thighs. She couldn't help but to giggle when it bunched beneath her, and she had to give it a little tug, so she could turn. It reminded her of the times her Mama would tell her to cut her wild locks as they were growing too long to be handled by the girl and, just like her plants, she gardened and tended to each day, even if they required a trimming or two. But Ella loved her long hair too much, and each inch was like a chapter, a story her father would tell. Either of her being a swept away mermaid of the days of his father and his adventures as they sailed Long before, Ella's father was a merchant when he was a much younger lad than the years he bore now. He used to work with his father on the small ships, sailing from one colony to another for goods, as well as fishing between their rounds. Ella remembers the warm summer days when she was barely a knee-high. Her mother would be tending to the gardens, as her father and her would take long walks to the oceans nearby. The kiss of the sea air always invigorated her, and her father would tell her it was because she had a mermaid soul. He would even make jokes about how when she was born, she had a fin instead of two human soles. When she was young and very naive, she almost believed this to be true. He even gave her a seashell necklace, telling her it was from a land under the sea she once belonged to. She remembers how she wore it for years and years and danced along the shore, trying to remember the lands under the sea beyond the shores. She imagined it to be glittered in pearl and silver. Each structure made from the cluster of seashells that broke far beneath and bridges, tunnels that tiny fish and crabs would swim through if their lives were ever at stake. She told her father she was a princess and he and Mama were the king and queen, and in her days she would collect random treasures lost from above that drifted down in the blanketed sands. She couldn't help but to giggle when it bunched beneath her, and she had to give it a little tug, so she could turn. It reminded her of the times her Mama would tell her to cut her wild locks as they were growing too long to be handled by the girl and, just like her plants, she gardened and tended to each day, even if they required a trimming or two. But Ella loved her long hair too much, and each inch was like a chapter, a story her father would tell. Either of her being a swept away mermaid of the days of his father and his adventures as they sailed He was just coming in age and was excited to man his own ship when the bigger colonies would take over the delivery of goods between the villages around and all the smaller sailors had to either move or find other means to provide for their families and keep their lands bound.  Even though it was many years later he would become a father and hold young Ella in his hands, she remembers his skin never stopped smelling of the ocean, and she could swear his skin was as creamy and rough as the sands.  Suddenly, she was awakened from her daydreams when she heard the slamming of doors and two girls screaming and tousling about. Her stepsisters had arisen it seemed, and she felt her heart sink, knowing it was just a matter of time until she heard her name being frantically called to come down. Her heart felt suddenly heavy as an anchor teetering and keeping a tiny boat ashore, and she just needed to escape, break free if just for a day or so. She could feel the riverbanks of her eyes fill and threaten to spill into tears as she gazed at the tiny seashell again and squeezed it tightly in her small silken hands.  Before they could call her name, Ella was already descending halfway down the rose vine outside the window ledge as her tiny feet dusted along the dirt, and she sprinted past tree's and her forest to the ocean's edge. She remembered the tiny boat her father kept anchored to the shore when he would take her fishing as a child. Never to eat them, but to catch and release, for it was merely a game of the wild. Ella would imitate the tiny fishy kisses the little ones would make to her, and gently kiss them before tossing them back in and waving goodbye with her fingery fins. The sky was a kaleidoscope of colours, in blues, pinks and pearly whites pouring into the ocean of turquoise under a vast morning sky. Her heart was fluttering, beating so quick as she nearly stumbled into the tiny wooden boat, pulling tugging upon the anchor below and began to row and row. She felt she couldn't get far enough away, as the butter sands soon bleed into her distance eyes sight and the basking, churning of the surrounding sea soon sung to her little heart's fire. A smile graced her pink petal lips, and her golden locks captured the rays of the sun. She once more could feel the spirit of her father and was the mermaid he told her she was. Ella laid flat inside the little boat as if it was her own tiny nest and let the rocking of the waves and vast spreading sun bake along her curvy, ample frame. Her breasts, hips wide and full and clipped into her dainty waist as she loosened, wiggled out of her dress and only remained in her bodice and panties lined in lace. Her pale skin incandescent, soon sparkled with the sun-drenched kissing of the sun as she hummed, purred listening to the seagulls swoosh in the sea for their breakfast. As the sea churned and tossed, the tiny wooden boat into the drifting tide, Ella could taste the sea air upon her lips as she swept her fingers gingerly over her thighs, feeling the misty kiss. Once more, she felt like the mermaid her father always told her she was. With long golden hair far too long, tousling in the sea scented froth. She felt so dreamy, taken away, she hardly heard the splash, but the gurgling of a man in the distance awakened her from her dreams at last. She curled her tiny fingers along the edges of the boat as she was barely clothed and now full of fright. When she saw a man, with raven slick strands, sinking under the drifting tide. Panic emerged upon her, and she could tell he was in danger as he splayed his fingers frantically all around, and she could barely think, let alone breath and jumped into the water without hardly a sound. Her pulse quickened, and she emerged up top and looked all around, where he was moments before. But she couldn't find him, see him, and knew he must have sunk below. With a quick gulp of air, she perched her lips and descended under the surface of the sea and could see a broad stoic silhouette folding into the darker blanketing abyss and knew he was in trouble at once. Ella swam as quick as she could and laced her tiny fingers, arms around him so tight and pressed against the under toe, force of the sea until they were once more in the morning's light. As soon as they surfaced, his eyes drowsy sparked to life. Two oceanic orbs containing the very soul of the ocean glimmering into the depth of her watery sighs. He gurgled, choked and spite out the water that was filling his lungs, and with a raspy voice, whispered, "It's you?" as his long fingers feathered through her wavy locks. Ella didn't understand what came over her, perhaps she was drunken on the very salted air, but she found herself leaning into his plump sandy lips and kissing him almost breathlessly and whispering, "yes...." 0 Comments

03/11/2024 09:21 PM  DarkerTaleOfElla ~~~Trigger Warnings~~~ The Darker Tale Of DIlly- This was not how life was supposed to be for the fair young lass, the little dove of the mountainside. That was the nickname the villagers gave her, and just like her mother, her voice was as whimsical and healing as a delicate wind chime. They lived in the countryside of the rolling hills of France, that poured into the lower valleys below. Lush overgrown emerald strands and tree's carolling over watercolour of wildflower fields hugging along the veining of rivers and streams, and the mountains so vast and high they French kissed along heaven's breath. Their cottage had been in her father's family for centuries, passed down from one generation's hands to the next, all the men were merchant mariners supplying goods between neighbouring villages and colonies around. In winter months or any other seasons, their home seemed to always be shrouded in ghostly mist, not threatening or harming in any way, on the contrary, it held to the magicks history it kept. Her mother would tell her stories and explain it was because the forest held to many secret realms. Some we could see with the human eye, as with other's it was only seen by unseen forces around. This was never frightening to her, in fact is held its own enchantment she thought, and she used to pretend she was living in the clouds when the mist hung extremely low. Her mother would even make her angelic wings out of the bedsheets and twigs she would find. As Ella would dance and prance around all day as her mother would tend to the gardens she planted that she loved. They were not rich, nor were they poor, and the lands provided much of the vegetation and herbs they would need. They even had a small farm she would help tend too, and her mother planted marigolds, lavenders and buttercups along the lining of the tree's. Ella's young life was just like a fairy tale, the ones her mother used to read to her every night and she never forgot one word or sentence and dreamed of a man with oceanic eyes. Her mother would brush her long blonde hair and tell her it was made from fallen stars and winter frost that braided together and framed her pale pink complexion and kissed by the heavenly gods. Ella would just giggle and laugh and tot her tiny stems and dangle her toes, calling her Mama so silly, and she was more dreamy than even her! But that was long ago, long before the fairy tale would shatter and break like an exquisite magical looking glass captured in time with memories that would no longer be. It started the day her mother took her very last breath and all the shine that held to her eyes spilled over from her sacred chalice holding her spirited soul. It was nearly two years later, after her father had travelled to a village nearby, he would meet Ella's soon to be step-mother and her two daughters. One with hair as dark as a raven's wing as the other in an almost devilish crimson fire. As soon as the girls and their mother moved in, even the cottage seemed to turn brittle and pale bone white and the mist that once held the magic of the mountainside evaporated, pouring over the edge and never returned after the very first night. But Ella always wanted to be pleasing to her father and ignored the voice that drove deep inside. Like a serpent lashing its venom, a voice that she felt crawled straight from her stepmothers mind. She couldn't understand what her father saw in her. Her eyes were as dark and dead as the unmovable sea and her fingers were long and almost snake like, and Ella couldn't help but to stare when she coiled them around a cup of tea. But as shrouded and dark as everything seemed, Ella still held her innocence and wonder in her creamy toffee wide wild eyes until the day after her father had left for a business trip one later spring day and nearly two weeks would go by.  Her stepmother and sisters paced in the estate, often keeping Ella quite anxious as she trembled with her own fears in her precious soul. They were more concerned about the dresses, silk and gems he had promised when all she requested was a tiny branch from the oak tree he would pass on his journey on the outskirts of town and to keep it in his pocket over his heart looking at it each time her would enter another village and think of her while he was away and bound. The day the telegram arrived, the ghostly mist would enclose around the cottage once more and the hint of rain whispered almost angrily, mizzling clumping on every flower's open pore. Something heavy could be felt in the air and Ella could feel it upon her sweet puffy breast as she opened up the cottage door and gazed upwards at the sky as rickety pearl - like clouds clustered, telling her a storm was near. That's when she caught the gaze of her father's old childhood friend with the look of dread upon his face, and she could immediately feel her heart sink in her chest as he made his way up towards the entrance-way. His voice was raspy, broken and tight as he told her the news of her father's passing. He had caught consumption only a mere week before and in a matter of days he was gone, no more. He longed to write his beloved daughter a note, but he was gone before he could ever get a chance and when his childhood friend finished speaking her handed Ella a thin envelope with a tiny coiled twig. It almost looked like a heart, but had little ridges that bubbled up at the edges of it bark covered vein. As she held the twigs in her fingertips, twirling it as her eyes welled with tears, she felt her legs go numb, and she spilled in a puddle upon her tiny legs. She couldn't be sure how long she remained there, but the fireplace roared before she received the news, and by the time she came to once more it reflected of her heart's dying embers in a sea of deepening blues. Ella couldn't remember when it first started, for the first time she felt the glint of the whip across her incandescent flesh, it felt as if it was a haunting of a previous scar. It was the look in her stepmothers eyes when she first met her. A spooling of dark vines swirling, trying to contain all the lies she told her father to get into his heart. The crackle of the braided rope upon her arching back that night as tears poured over her delicate flesh. The hissing of the storm brewing outside, mother natures way of drowning out Ella's stolen tears. Ones that she held deep inside since her father's passing. She couldn't break or even allow a whimper to slip past her lips because she knew once she did she may never stop crying. Her once upon a time was now shrouded in her stepmother's talon like hands. At first, it was the young girls that would pick upon poor Ella, dropping buttons, ribbons or perhaps even a brush. Then demanded that she pick it up immediately and by the kindness of her heart, Ella would bend down and hand it to them. This game would last for a long time, almost like cat and mouse. Snickering, watching Ella over and over again pick up the various items they would purposely toss to the ground. They even, on occasion, if it tickled them to do so, would press their un-lady like hooves upon her back and knock straight into the ground. It took everything inside to swallow the pain, sting it would cause, and she would slowly rise up from the floor, always with a smile, and hand them whatever items they sought. She remembers on days such as this, it was hard to sleep in her nights for not only did they take away her bed filled with dreamy feathers from an ostrich tail, they replaced it with a thatchle of sun burnt hay that was left over in the fields. Her room was not the attic upstairs where they kept all the old things of Ella's previous life. But this wasn't so bad for the young beauty, for she felt her parents' hearts, spirits lingering in the surrounding room, protecting her in her nights. Her stepsisters, though with all their evil teasing and random demands, were merely child's play compared to their mother, who was much more sinister in her twisted calculating ways and no matter what Ella did for her, she could never find a way to get into her ironclad. She dotted on her hand and foot and even combed her long crimson straggly hair in the night, as well as applying a rare lotion from the south of France upon her feet, massaging and kneading for hours.  She so longed for a mother's love again and remembers the excitement held in her heart when her father's first told her he was remarrying, she danced and spun around their countryside home thinking of her own mother, the stories they would tell, and her fingers muddied from the garden when they planted fresh roots in the soil. But her stepmother could not be any farther from the light her mother contained. It was like two opposite ends of a storm. One gleaming in all the colours of a rainbow, while the other the thunderous sounds, lightening streams that could break one's very soul. When her father passed, many changes occurred in her life, and it became an unbalanced pendulum that teetered in her mind. Her stepmother was always worried about her social standing and the money her father had left would quickly diminish and run out. She grew up poor, Ella would come to learn and stepped on many backs to obtain her own blood stained wealth. Within a day or two, she would fire all the servants and staff. Most Ella knew her entire life. They were not hired help or soulless bodies. But the faces and hearts of the remaining family she had. Many offered to stay for less pay, or simply for shelter and nourishment in the days, but it seemed nothing they said or bargained with helped at all. She remembered the way the water felt. The heat, pressure, comfort it brought as she now shivered outside her childhood home with nothing more than a bucket and a single bar of soap to wash herself off after a long day of gruelling work. After she dismissed the staff is when the truest of nightmares would begin. She told her she was doing her a kindness, allowing her to remain under the roof which was now theirs and even when they allowed her to have the attic She should be thankful for the extent of care they gave her in those days.  Ella was now told she would sleep alongside of the farm animals in the barn, which would become her home and even in the wintry months would pass, frost pouring over the mountainside in silvery steaks of gold. She clung to the one blanket she was given, made of thin strangles of hay braided as one to keep her dainty frame warm, as she huddled close to the farm animals shivering all night long. The day she dared to escape, taking her father's strong trusted steed into the forest beyond their watchful gaze, is when she encountered Mr. Kit for the first time and embarrassment clouded upon her eyes and face. She was unsure if he noticed, the embedded dirt and muck clinging to the tips of her fingers and toes as she curled them under her paddings and smiled with a warmth she hadn't felt in so long fill inside of her heart and bones. But as she watched his hopeful sparkling eyes and listened to his velvety baritone voice, she could feel in the distance a darker presence beyond the bushing that surrounded the two. It was later that night she would find out to whom the presence surely was when she heard the barn doors open with a flickering light and her two-step sisters and their mother were accompanied by a stocky, short man with lustful eyes. The Journey to The Castle..... TBC   0 Comments

03/11/2024 09:18 PM  Ella|Mr.Kit-Fated ~~~Trigger Warnings~~~ ~Little Dove~ She remembered the way the water felt. The heat, pressure, comfort it brought as she now shivered outside her childhood home with nothing more than a bucket and a single bar of soap to wash herself off after a long day of gruelling work. After she dismissed the staff is when the truest of nightmares would begin. Her stepmother told her she was doing her a kindness, allowing her to remain under the roof which was now theirs and Ella should be thankful for the extent of care they gave her in those days.  But now she was told she would sleep alongside of the farm animals in the barn and even when the wintry months would pass, frost pouring over the mountainside in silvery steaks of gold. She clung to the one blanket she was given, made of thin strangles of hay braided as one to keep her dainty frame warm, as she huddled close to the farm animals shivering all night long. The day she dared to escape, taking her father's strong trusted steed into the forest beyond their watchful gaze, is when she encountered Mr. Kit for the first time and embarrassment clouded upon her eyes and face. She was unsure if he noticed, the embedded dirt and muck clinging to the tips of her fingers and toes as she curled them under her paddings and smiled with a warmth she hadn't felt in so long fill inside of her heart and bones. But as she watched his hopeful sparkling eyes and listened to his velvety baritone voice, she could feel in the distance a darker presence beyond the bushing that surrounded the two. It was later that night she would find out to whom the presence surely was when she heard the barn doors open with a flickering light and her two-step sisters and their mother were accompanied by a stocky, short man with lustful eyes. Panic surged upon her flesh and she found her legs, toes curling scampering about as she shivered and kicked up the surrounding hay, the look of wild fearful abandon held in her young deer does eyes. Her stepsisters dragged her dainty frame out from the pile of hay that shielded her from plain sight and laced their manly fingers around her wrist like fleshy shackles as the man drew closer to her side. She was wearing no more than a weeding of a potato sack she wore in her nights as a make - shift night gown. The fabric was thin, and he could see though it as her stepmother raised the lantern on her other side. The fullness of her breasts creamy and white and perched tight red dotting nipples that shivered and wrinkled from her fright. Her soft wavy tummy and the golden thickness of her curvy thighs as his sick twisted gaze licked his lips as he stared at the young lass. She was a ripe succulent fruit, ripe and untarnished, and he was enticed even more s by the wild spirit of the girl before him and groaned as he heard her scowling but with such fear he could taste sweetly upon his thin lips and dazzling in his eyes. She was more beautiful than he remembered from earlier that day, as she held the attention of the young prince's eyes. But he needed her, felt her unbroken spirit and wanted to claim her as his as to why he made the deal with her stepmother that night. He would set up two dowries, one for each of her girls, containing a thousand franks each and for herself the title in which she could choose reasonable of course, given her current standing. Ella was bound and gagged, and the edges of the braided rope tore into her precious pout, like a rosebud being forced open as scarlet dripped at the sides of her mouth. She couldn't scream or even yelp as the braiding cut deeply in, and they tied her wrists and ankles together one over the other and led her to the carriage they would hoist her in. Her eyes shimmered and quaked as tears poured hopelessly over petal cheeks, which only seemed to please the man sitting opposite of her as the carriage rocked and squeaked. His eyes glinted across the carriage at the young innocent flower, corn silk hair tousled, tangled and pieces of heath, cinder held between each strand as if trying to cling to a past life she so wanted to feel again as Ella whimpered, squirmed and tried to break out of the braided rope that bound her wrist. It cut, slithered like tiny vines of a rosebush and she could feel the tearing droplets of blood dripping over the tips of her small hands, and her lips, torn, swollen and bruised felt so defeated, broken and already like an old used doll under the Dukes thirsty lust and demands. Ella looked outside the carriage, hardly a star could be seen through the caroling of tree's, but the moon in its eerily glow multiplied as her eyes shimmered in a thousand tears that clung to the fringing of her dark lashes as she squeezed them tight trying to escape, be anywhere else but where she was. She felt his long slimy finger drag up the curl of her neck and brush away his messy hair as he curled it under her chin and she flinched, yelped as he ordered her to open her eyes to him. Ella didn't want to meet his gaze and let him see the terror, helplessness in her eyes because she knew no matter what she said or how she tried to fight she would have to succumb and surrender her virtue if it appeased his ways. He was the Duke dressed in the most fashionable regal of clothes with a sharp coy look and twinkle in his eyes. But all the villagers heard of the tales of his animistic thirsts and ways as he feed on many daughters taking their innocence then tossing them aside, like used cattle soured milk, names tarnished as no nobleman wanted a torn girl no matter how it happened or entailed. There was no use, no way to stop him, and the more she struggled seemed to appease his thirsty soul. She could hear his uneven heavy breaths heaving from the hollow of his throat as his plump rounded body spilled to the floor of the carriage as she tried to close her legs, braid them together at her knee's, releasing a solemn, broken cry, raspy, shredded for all the saliva in her mouth had ran dessert achingly dry. "Pleaseeeeeee!" she leaned over just enough to try to plead, reason with the man who only gazed back at her with the devil dancing in his eyes and just like so she felt the pinch of its forks piercing dragging like hot coal over her flesh and young innocent soul. Ella's sobs, the way the muck drizzled down her cheeks and over the swollen bruising of her lips, much like a rosebud held under water for far too long, puffy, ripe and so very red caused a gleam, flicker in the Dukes eyes as he flicked his coiled snake like tongue over the thin of his lips and she could feel his fingers in the shadows of the carriage try to force her thighs, the creamy silk of her legs open wide, straining the braided rope that held her crossed over ankles below. The feeling burned over her flesh, rippling and she tried to buckle further back into the velvet of the chair. her back arching upwards like a wild doe trying to break free, escape and perspiration cascaded down the dark vee between her full jutting breast. Unbeknownst to her in that very given moment and because of all her squirming, fretting and tossing in the seat, her two rounded full breast, petrified taunt pointy nipples glistened shined as the moon poured in. This caught the attention of the Duke as he cupped harshly upon each of her breast, toying pinching her nipples so painfully she cried out, screamed and couldnt catch her breath. Her body flinched over and over again as tears stained her already flushed cheeks and lips and her sun drenched hair even lost its glimmer like a fading wild flower with each flick and taunting of the Dukes hands. She begged him to stop! Screamed out to him and wished out loud she rather choose death through her meek wiltering breaths and cries. This stop him momentarily as he snickered coyly and looked up between the butter of her thighs and told her, "my little dove that too can be arranged. But you are going to give me that untouched flower willingly or not it makes no difference to me at all. Your fight, struggle will only sweeten and tenderize your skin making it more supple and delicious for me in the end. So fret all you want golden lass, flare your wings your making it much easier for me seeing your lack of clothes spilling over the seat and your skin. That innocence, your earthly bound cries shattering I will taste it all and the honey between your kept legs." His words, each one, each letter he spoke felt like a hot whip slicing upon her heart and she felt suddenly broken defeated by the many months since her father's death, nightmare bleeding into the very next one. She held her light for as long as she felt she could and her mind thought of the man with oceans in his eyes, glaciers sharp blue and pristine but then somehow melted and coated her with a warmth from inside. She thought of Kit in that moment, and in their short moment together he truly saw Ella and not the name given to her by her step family meant to mock and diminish her spirit. Just Ella, the girl who would dance in the rain and the smokey mist that would cloak around her childhood home in a time that felt now so swept away. She vaguely recognized the castle in the shadow of the inkwell sky as the men snaked their long fingers around her waist and rough fully lead her inside.  She tried her best to fight, wiggling, withering and throwing her dainty frame into their own, but it was of no use as they ended up groping her flesh and the other raised his hand and smacked her two folds. It stung like a million bees stinging and her knee's nearly gave as they hoisted her up, and he took his index finger and thumb and told her to behave like the good girl he knew she was. All she could do was whimper and sob, and could feel her lips swelling at the edges of the rope as they opened the door to a bathing chamber and tore away like savages the remains of her clothes.  She stood there frightened as they unleashed the shackles upon her wrists and ankles too and untied the rope from around her lips as she laced her tiny fingers over her curvy frame. They then circled around her like two thirsty wolves reading their prey as she peered from under her corn silk strangled locks seeing their hungry gaze holding a liquid lust in their gaze. Her tiny face darted and looked from side to side as her pulse soared into the rivers of her chest, but there was no escaping, nothing she could do and was only grateful for the dim lightening shielding most of her frame.  It was then she heard the barking call of their leader, the Duke, scolding them, telling them to leave at once. She was his untarnished angel to pluck, and she needed to cleanse herself of all the farm's filth and muck. The men grunted like wounded pups with their tails tucked between their legs, and the Duke grinned at the poor lass and finally left her alone as the steam rose from the shower he had just made. She was finally alone with a thousand thoughts, not one making sense to the next, and surrendered to the piddling, kneading water upon her flesh as she huddled in the corner, steam caressing her every breath. Even in this desolate time, Ella still held a sun-drenched glow. Just as her mother once told her, galaxies spun and caressed her little soul. Her long wavy strands hugged around her curvy frame and her hips echoed in the sides of her full breasts as she whimpered and slightly swayed. She kept her eyes closed and tight and just listened to nature's white noise of the pellets of water all around her as her mind fell into happier days, wild flowers clipping upon her ankles as she ran free and wild. ~Mr Kit- Sea Voyager~  After a particularly cruel and hurtful incident Ella had with her stepfamily, she rides her horse into the nearby woods to calm herself down. She encounters a stag, fleeing from an approaching hunting party, and her horse takes off in fright while Ella clings on for dear life. Her plight is noticed by a young prince who had just returned from Portugal, he was out hunting with his men, who manages to stop her horse and introduces himself… As Kit, an "apprentice" from the palace. While Ella is charmed by the handsome stranger, whom she does not recognize as the king's son, she scolds him for hunting a helpless animal and requests that he refrain from harming the stag. While taken aback at Ella's odd request, Kit is smitten with her compassionate spirit, but is called back by his hunting party before he can learn her name. At this time, Kit had not been too far off adventures yet, not as far as he would have liked to go… his mind was often on the next destination and what beauties that may reside beyond the sea which made his composure icy and distant. His silence terrified the people he would encounter at court, even his own men, because he was slightly unpredictable in a sense. However, it would be in this chance encounter he had with the beautiful Ella that would make him crack a smile for the first time in front of his company. When he seized her horse, and he finally trotted them to a halt, he had examined that the tears from her eyes had seared the dirt from her tender skin, scorching away any possibility that she was not crying because she was afraid that her horse road off suddenly but that she had experienced pain elsewhere… for this reason alone, Kit was intrigued and tangled his fist around the reigns of her horse to keep her there with him just a little longer. It was also obviously clear that she had no idea who he was to have given him such a scolding. It was refreshing and my how beautiful she was, in her pent-up frustrated state… too many of his subjects cater and now, to his every whim, he just wanted to leave to a foreign land… but here a beautiful subject on his land was completely clueless, lovely, naive, and the fairest he had ever seen. He simply could not take his eyes off her… and apparently neither could someone else. Reluctantly, the Prince parted from the beauty as his men urged him that his father was waiting for him… since his travels he had not visited him once, nor did he really care to… but it would be this behavior of Kit’s that would give the Duke free choice to all the ladies in the land… for the eligible Kit had no true interest in any maiden or lass in his land until Ella… and this alone would cause a visit from the Duke to Ella’s stepmother. The duke was greedy… yet he was already bound by marriage to a duchess.…but that never stopped him from retrieving play things. The prince was aware of this, but he held no interest in any of the Duke’s personal affairs. The pretty maidens came and gone like day and night. Kit was indifferent and plagued by the monarch’s need for him to marry. He definitely wanted his kingdom to be stable and had already came to terms of marriage and that it would be an empty one… one he would leave behind when he went to travel and he wanted to set sail now!! In the carriage poor Ella was being grabbed, examined and violated by the Duke’s hands. He would tell her how filthy she was yet proceeded to lick his fingers and touch her, only to do it again, his hands grabbing her bottom and opening her flesh to see her untouched treasures. His hands groped and kneaded her young breasts until her nipples were painfully protruding, yet he never put his lips on her All this must have been torture for the beauty and had Kit known, he would have had him killed… for even now as the day turned into night, he couldn’t take his mind off the beautiful girl that magically appeared in the forest. He wondered who she was, her lineage, her family history… It was twilight’s hour… poor Ella arrived at the palace, her voice hoarse from crying and her pleas muffled and her body felt broken from being bound so tight and trying to struggle from the Duke’s abusive prying fingers.. which made her thankful of her bondage… but as she was untied and released into the showers she feared for her safety more so than ever and she was deeply wounded by being called such wicked demeaning names… Kit had finished on his ship, setting it up for sail at dawn, to the greenway coast of Iceland… but first he had to shower… he reeked of seaweed and gun powder, fish funk and old leather (lol) and he too arrived at the showers, not caring which he had happened upon, he just needed one! After roping the lines and securing the starboard sails, Kit stared into the twilight, watching the sun sink into the sea. He was out on his own voyage for a week. It was during this time that he remembered the girl in the woods, her sea blue dress, dancing in the breeze like the body of the waves, and her golden blonde hair rippled like the sea-capped turrets kissed by the sun’s last rays. There was an effervescence about the mysterious girl he had encountered. She gave Kit the same feeling he had when he was washed up on shore one early morning after having plummeted into the sea during a storm the night before. It was in those same moments that he felt he had come back to life.... And now he was here, starting into the darkness; only the sounds of the crashing waves remained. The sound of the crashing waves was replaced by the sound of the showers, the many lines of spraying waters hitting the marble floor of the palace showers. Kit disrobed and found it refreshing to peel each sea salted plastered garment off his body and submerge himself into the mist of steam that plumed into a cloud from extreme condensation. As the world of the wild washed away his sore muscles, he could hear a faint crying. He had heard many things in these marble showers, from arguments, heated lovemaking, forced lovemaking, and even lonely lads making love to their hands (lol), but he had never heard crying. Kit maneuvered his way through the mist, as if looking for the saddened spirit that had haunted these showers. It was soon that he happened upon the corner. The source of the crying… it was a girl; she sounded like an injured dove. She looked to be one, too, with her angelic golden hair folded over her back like the cupped wings of an angel. She was small. Why was she here? He wondered. A young girl like her doesn’t belong in the palace showers shared by all the men of this wing. If there was a girl here, she was often occupied by other ladies or even her lover. Kit did jump to conclusions. Perhaps she was in love with one of the nobles, and their flights of fancy became disarrayed, and now the poor creature was dying of heartbreak. Kit approached her hesitantly, and laid a gentle hand on her delicate shoulder, only to flinch when she did tend to hiss and bite back. (Lol) Her yelp was ear-piercing, and she seemed to tremble all over. “You’re right!! You’re right!! I smell BAD!!” It was in that hilarious moment in time that Kit made haste and attempted to soap up every part of his brawny stature, especially the cravass of eternal stench. As he was doing so, he could see the maiden peek at him, her arms folded cross over her lovely legs, and the curtain of her hair shielded the fullness of her face. It was hard to tell which was water from the shower or which was her tears, but he was sure he saw her blink-back tears, and the slight corner of her eye smiled just a little, very little. It was then, in the sudsy mess he was in, with soap foam covering all the right places (temporarily), that he crouched before her, attempting to peel the soft fingers of one of her hands from her body. "Please, you don’t belong in this corner. Let’s get you off the floor. Com'on… Come with me." He was sure this was one of the nobles' doings. He didn’t care who the Duke fxked or played with, but not on his time. Not during this hour, and especially not alone with someone so young. Kit guessed this girl was just of age, with clearly no experience. He wouldn’t know this was his long-lost woodland maiden until all the dirt, soot, mud and filth washed away from her body. He lifted the weakened, shivering maiden up off her feet and carried her to the warming springs, so that perhaps upon submerging her wings, she would feel them again and come alive. The hot spring bathing pool was very warm, and it seemed almost instantly her limbs unfolded as he let her sink into the water. He wasn’t planning on staying with her until the slow reveal made his heart aware that this was, in fact, the woman from the woods. Concern riddled his brow. Everything about her seemed to be stuck or locked into stone. What in the hell happened? He was slowly building rage, especially after seeing the many little scars on her back. His hand cupped her face, as his voice pleaded and called for her to come back. Surely she would recognize him.It's Kit. Don't you remember me? Please miss!?" And he couldn’t help himself, his lips were drawn to her. It took everything he had to not kiss her. She was so distraught, affected by memories and dazed. ~Little Dove~ Ella sat upon the marble tile, the colour of ivory snow, and welcomed the twilight that shone overhead.  The sky was murky and dotted with gray clouds gathering, telling of a storm that would soon make it descend upon the lands below. As the moon illuminated the darkening azure colours filtering along the shower walls, Ella watched the streams of water escape into the drain along the tiled floor. In her mind, she wished she was small just as the field mice in her childhood home, so she could crawl and slip down the drain and leave the castle, her lands once and for all. Since her father's passing, she felt she was slowly dimming, losing all hope, and tonight was no exception. As the Duke laid his slimy, large hands upon her, tearing away her already tarnished clothes, she felt like a primrose from her Mama's gardens being stripped away of her petals and parts of her soul. Even in her wildest nightmares, she never thought her stepmother would go to such lengths of horrors to secure her place, her name and wealth. She couldn't stop her fluctuating, uneven breaths parting between her lips or the tears that seemed endless streaming down her porcelain cashmere skin. Ella had been brave and held courage, goodness for so long she felt she was shattering, breaking like a beautiful stained-glass mural her mother always compared her too.  She barely registered the sounds of footsteps or the squeaking of the handle as someone entered the showers a few feet away. Or even feeling the steam misting all around her, the heat sprinkling of droplets drizzling over someone's flesh.  All she could see was the smokey mountains that surrounded her home, the earthy scents, clouds that poured over the tips and into the valleys below as the shower slowly mystified around young Ella becoming entranced, dazed in this memory as if her mind was shutting down protecting her from the horrors she knew would soon come. Ella refused to wash earlier, feeling the dirt, gravel and blood from their lashing would serve as a reminder and perhaps keep them away, feeling she was tarnished and not worthy of their aristocratic hands. She flinched once again as Kit closed the distance between them, and she could feel her heart peppering louder than even the damning showers around her. But she would not turn away, cast her vision downwards as she braved the shrouded face of Mr. Kit, barely able to make out the reflection of tenderness deepening pools of turquoise she would have recognized at once. It was far too dark, and her mind was riddled in fear as his body, so much larger than her own, even kneeled before her seemed too over bearing, intimidating and when he attempted to curl his long rough fingers under her dainty ones she almost held away, but something about his voice and the lines she could feel upon his padding reminded her of  her father.  The way the rope from the ships would cut along your flesh, tatter in such lengths it was almost recognizable to any seaman. A marking, veining bearing the sea's heart filled grasp as her winds would often furl, and unfurl around their clipped hands trying to mane and tighten the sails in her ravaging breaths. It was then, as she became lost in her thoughts, mind that she allowed him to raise her to her tiny feet and although fear, trembled upon her naked flesh, she curled into she sides of her masculine frame as he led her outside and she could finally see the stars, the moon glistening upon her.  The storm had only moments before cleared and the smell of grass wafted in the air as tiny droplets captured upon the surrounding vegetation, and although she had full vantage to gazing upon this seemingly kind man at her side, she didn't dare to look afraid he may still try to claim her and this was no more than a trick. A game set upon her by the duke. Gingerly he led her deeper into the gardens in a plush enclosed field surrounded by oil lanterns pouring over the emerald strands like tears still cascading down her puffy cheeks in dusky strained black lines that curled into her swan like neck. A longing sigh released from her parting pink lips as he allowed, encouraged her tiny foot to slip into the warm bathing spring as rose petals of all colours danced, pirouetted upon the surface. He gently uncurled his large hand fingers from her dainty one as she suddenly became aware of her nakedness and sunk instantly into the pristine steamy waters, feeling sheltered enclosed by the mist forming around her. Ella closed her eyes as she heard his footsteps slowly melt into the distance as she swam to the far end of the springs where honeysuckles, lion heads and the gently brushing of branches kissed and sheltered all around her. She knew she must leave, still escape, but the water felt so warm, soothing, and she hadn't taken a proper bath since her Papa passed away, being forced to use a bucket and bath in the outside no matter what the elements may have been. For just a moment, she felt like the tiny princess she once was in full bloom in her mother's gardens again and barely felt the rippling of water, Kit sank into the springs besides her as her mind thoughts set her in an almost catatonic state as Kit placed his long finger beneath her chin trying to summons her to the here, now in front of her. Her eyes blinked rapidly as if in pages of a novel, her mother's fairy tales rippled in tears down her cheeks and for the first time in the entire night she was met by the boy, a man with oceanic eyes gazing upon her. Recognition, confusion peppered across her face as his eyes, fringed dark lashes fluttered as wildly as her own like two winged tips emerged in a storm, and she could feel his heated breath bathing upon her skin, as her voice, dry, frail from tears, sobbing whispered his name, "Kit?' Tears streamed quicker upon her porcelain flesh like an old stained mirror as her dark eyes pleaded with his own, and she whispered his name once more, feeling the scratchiness upon her throat as she curled her tiny trembled finger around his single one upon her chin. Her heart sinking and rising once more as she spilled into his furry broad chest and even after his lather, all his scrubbing and fret she could still smell the secrets of the sea upon his flesh as she curled her tiny wet nose into the curl of his neck. He could feel the vibration of her quivering lips, the gentle fawn-like cries as she pulled away from his neck, her eyes shimmering brighter than even the northern lights as she peered into his deep blue sea and placed the small of her hands upon his dark dusky chest. ~Mr.Kit Sea Voyager~ Kit could hardly believe the maiden from the forest was here with him now… did she even recognize him? Why was she so full of fright and petrified to speak or move? He hardly had the nerve to ask too many questions in fear that this was perhaps all just a dream. Just like Ella, his mind played tricks on him, to keep him from reality. He was becoming of age to be wed and take up his rightful place on his throne, but he couldn’t without taking a bride first..: with his father’s growing illness, he was pressured more and more as the days passed by and to escape, Kit would go off on some meaningless voyage in hopes the earth was flat and he could simply just sail off of it. Kit exercised his movements with the young girl with caution. Gently moving the curtain of her golden hair away from her slender shoulder as they both seemed to dance into deeper water. It was warm, calming. The springs snaked into his garden and the scent of heartsease and lavender flooded the hazy evening. The sculpted bushes and random bushes of some rare flowers dotted and framed the lazy river as they both became lost to the world. The beauty before him embodied the unfulfilled desires of every man born into the world since Adam. She was here now with him, with such a glorious display of her body since Eve, Kit realizes in this moment that any other female would have paled like the moon in comparison to this woman, paled like the moon because she was as radiant as the sun. Kit’s pulse quickened in anticipation even as his gut knotted with dread for she has yet to open her eyes. She looked to be sleeping… and he was unable to help himself from touching her, his broad hand slowly and very softly ran downward from the delicate curve of her nape, along the length of her spine, downward to the softness of her hip where his palm rested as comfortably as his eyes rested upon her fair face… “will you not look at me?” Kit requested softly, wonderingly … his features slowly growing more saffron coloured as they were both in their birthday attire. The waters were pristine, glimmering with the reflection of the stars and their own turquoise hue, just as pristine as the woman before him, no matter her scars, and how much he was captivated by her and her mysterious ways. His smile emerged, replacing his concern. He realized just now that this was her way. Mysterious and cryptic. She was a riddle, a riddle he hoped he could spend the rest of his life solving. Suddenly a squat man emerged from the bath-house side door, he was ranting, raving “where is she?! Find her and bring her to my quarters!” The Duke demanded, called to his men-at-arms and looked frantically in the dirty towel hampers and waste baskets. “GRAND DOOK!? Do you mind?” Kit grunted, keeping Ella behind him. “Can I have no peace?” Grand Duke indeed, in Kit’s opinion, the man looked better suited to frolicking beneath a toadstool. “Yo yo…your Majesty!” The Duke stammered, bowed and walked backwards, bumping into a statue, fumble in preventing it from falling and apologized profusely, knowing he had better leave and find his concubine before the prince realized he was bringing peasants into his side of the palace, which kit had scolded him for before as well as the king scolding him… “ I swear he is an imbecile ..” kit shook his head and stared at the Duke adamantly until he was out of sight, in the background he could be heard, frantically looking for his lost play thing and he was getting irate in losing her. Kit could hear the grand Duke stomping upon the dais inside the bath house, the shadow of the bath house glass showed him raising his stubby arms in rage, his voice cracking, choking and squeaking. “An inspiration that one..” kit chuckled, turning around, the water rippling all around Ella, kit would endure her game and begin guessing. “ we are playing Marco Polo!!” Kit acknowledged in excitement. “A Portuguese water game…” though he had never played it naked… “ you say Marco and keep your pretty as shut and I’ll chant Polo.. you try to grab me but mind you I’m without ummm… umm anything but I’m not hold it against you what you grab.. hahah.. 0 Comments

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