[Hi, loves. This is my first written story, and it's a bit different. My writing style is naturally a bit convoluted - but I hope you enjoy it. Please leave me comments with your thoughts. I'll eventually continue this, but I only had about an hour to write down the vague ideas. If it's something that fits with the caliber of this site, I'd be happy to finish more.]
Libretto had never been a patient, kind, or considerate man. On the contrary, his narcissistic, phlegmatic personality had lead most people to instant revulsion. Despite his obvious short comings, society was enraptured – totally ensnared by his deliciously, eternally perfect face, and more importantly, by his music. Libretto was a musician, a congenial, dark knight able to wield any instrument from the elegant bow of a glossy violin, to the gleaming fluting stem of the clarinet with irrepressible skill.
Libretto was gifted, and likewise cursed, with the insatiable desire for innovation. As a result, his flowing sonatas each held a sweet, irreplaceable sound, completely individual: as perfectly personal as a fingerprint. Libretto tired quickly of his lavish homes, rich clothing, and lusty beauties – in fact, the only element of his vain life which pleased him on a regular basis was his absolute love for his own fame. But like all things, that changed.
He didn’t know her name, and made no attempt at attaining it. In his mind, he had already assembled a vast collection of names for her, and he felt no compulsion to relinquish the intimate secrecy and mystery of this woman. She, for that was all he knew her as, was invulnerable to his intoxicating melodies, bored of his extravagance, utterly unimpressed by his strong stature – but nightly, she would obediently attend his concert hall. And nightly he would labor to draw his majestic musical movements to newly tremulous heights, hoping to elicit the same sigh of ecstasy from her as from the rest of the swaying crowd, but nightly, he was disappointed, and while his audience grew drunk by his composition, he fell violently for the shimmering shroud of luminescence she surrounded herself with.
Libretto was by no means an ordinary man. His grievances, which were deep and marring to the tolerance of any, were covered with an alluring polish; his thick, glistening auburn hair cascading gently over a pair of piercing azure eyes. His eyes were remarkably true to the old cliché – they were windows to his soul. They would flicker, the cerulean tumult raging stormily within, his irises thin blades of ice, hardening to a deep gray at the core of each sapphire. His almond eyes were feathered with a fringe of shadowy, seductive lashes, and his nose followed the smooth, strong contour of his profile, before melding into sensuous carmine lips. He was tall, the breadth of a lady’s hand above six generous feet, and his body was hard, toned, and built to a cruel, cold perfection. Every night, he would shun the cooing, simpering women of his willing collection, and instead pluck a voluptuous maiden from his crowd, soothing his selection’s enraged husband with a quick word of praise. Libretto’s charisma was paralleled in his attitude only in his music.
This lady, she was a beauty among beauties, a queen Aphrodite reigning with a crown of stars and a scepter of allure. Her feminine figure seemed to have the consistency of water; curving lusciously at the smooth, aquiline lines of her milky breasts, drawing in to the tapered, taut sweep of her waist, before gently fluting outwards into provocative hips and shapely, impossibly lengthy legs. Her hair was spun gold – always slightly tousled from the elaborate twists, falling gently upon her sloping shoulders, the glossy tresses sweeping tantalizingly with each enchanting movement of her elegant neck. Hey eyes – Libretto could lose himself in the startling depths of her widely-spaced, fawn-like eyes, always slanted by her thick, sultry eyelashes. Her lips were perpetually pouty, supple and deepened at the corners of her alluring mouth, always composed into a soft, bona fide smile.
