This short standalone story is inspired by a picture that I stumbled across online, by an artist called Nathalia Sullen.
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A beautiful and somewhat Gothic moonlit night.
A strong, handsome young man bound in a cage. Is he defeated or defiant?
A woman looking like a fantasy in a flowing red dress, which appears to grow out of the mist, approaches. Is she his savior, his mistress, or his doom?
I was daydreaming over this image for quite some time before I discovered it was actually a book cover, I have no idea if my story has any similarities because I deliberately have not read the book.
I decided to wait until after I had posted this story.
If you are interested you can easily find the story, but I felt it was a little rude to name drop a published author alongside my efforts. Especially as I haven't read her story yet (it's waiting on my e-reader).
However, the artist I feel, may be pleased to know that her work is inspiring the imagination of all sorts of random people. (And I am pretty random!)
Tess O'Meter - Amber.
This story contains dubious consent and violence.
-X
The man waited.
His limbs chilled and stiff, his wounded body aching.
Wrists chained behind him, he knelt in the tiny cage as threatening clouds gathered overhead.
A heartless full moon shone down upon his bowed head as he grieved.
Eyes closed; he mourned his brother who had been slain just two weeks before by the monster that he had not been able to kill.
He endured the pain in his trembling limbs as penance for his failure to end the horror. The unnatural being who had overpowered him at the nights end and imprisoned him here to await his fate.
The night had almost been over when he had become aware that he was being stalked.
He was naked to the waist, having used his clothing to tie a bandage around his thigh, ripped open when he lost his footing at the waterfall.
He had not minded the blood that soaked his trousers, or the numerous weeping scrapes on his arms and back.
They would help to attract his prey, for he was the hunter in the night.
He could not be weakened though, so had halted the flow of fresh blood and limped on through the ancient woods. In search of ancient evil.
Vampyre.
Even the word rolled terrible over his skin.
The thought of his brother's torn body caused renewed sickness in his heart and stomach.
He would have his revenge.
But as dawn threatened, the man realized that he was not alone in the woods.
No bird song. No rustle of small creatures. The trees were silent and waiting.
He was now the prey.
The man turned at the sense of movement behind him, and saw only the briefest flash of green, before his world went black.
He awoke, chained in the cage with the sun beating down upon him.
There was still an uneasy stillness surrounding him, and he knew that this was a place for darkness, despite the beauty and bright light.
He had walked into the woods to be found, to be seduced, and to turn that seduction to his advantage, but he had been found too close to morning, and so the expected conquest had become a capture.
His jaw ached where the blow had landed, and he wept as he knew he had little chance now to avenge his brother. He was food.
When night fell, she would come and empty her larder.
Now that night had fallen, he waited still, as his skin chilled and his hope failed, the tears now dried on his cheeks.
The wickedness would come and feast on his flesh and his sacrifice would be for nothing.
Heart in his mouth, the man watched through his lashes as the air began to stir, to take form.
Wisp-like ribbons of red whirled in the air.
Then the ribbons took on substance and began to reveal a shape.
Abruptly, she was there.
Wrapped in a red dress that seemed to flow both from and into the ground.
The white flesh of her breasts spilling over the bodice that embraced her hourglass figure.
Hair that would be golden if she were able to stand in the sunlight, spilled pale down her back.
She was a dream, a fantasy.
A nightmare.
He felt her lust as she approached. The scent of his blood flared her nostrils.
Her lips curved in pleasure as she admired his firm young body, held fast in the chains.
The heat and sweat of the smithy kept his body toned and strong.
Apart from a couple of small burns from his apprentice days, only the grazes from the forest marked his skin.
He knew he was considered a beautiful man.
Men and women of the village had told him so.
