The soft glow of the candles illuminates her skin, as she sits in front of the mirror of her vanity. A gentle sigh escapes the Cupid's bow mouth, a sound of quiet remorse while her nightly ritual comes to a climax. The almost scalding hot bath had left a luminous red glow upon her skin, teasing out the usually translucent freckles upon her chest and shoulders. Wisps of hair tickle her nape as they fight the binding that keeps the rich brunette waves from tumbling free. Lavender and ylang ylang whisper along her skin as she slowly works the cream into the supple canvas. The scent brings back memories of lovers; of nights spent being lavished with pleasure, of being the single most important being in a man's world. Then Cassandra was more than just a lone figure in front of this mirror, but a woman strong and beautiful, a woman fervently desired by all.
A single tear drips down from one eye while more pool in the azure depths. So many nights she has sat here, wondering what could have changed the wicked hands of fate. What could have happened differently if she had been granted a different lot in life? Would she have found the one man that would mean the world to her, rather than being the trophy upon so many men's arms? Angrily she brushes the tears away and stares ferociously into the eyes of her reflection. "Stop sniveling! Stop crying over the past! Love wasn't meant to grace your superficial life!" Cassandra picks up the bottle of lotion and hurls it across the room with a cry. Whirling back around, she looks at the reflection with a critical eye, studying it as she has every night since. Her curves were ample: had become more pronounced as she grew from adolescence to womanhood. She sits up straighter, smoothing her hands down her arms and around her neck and chest, caressing the pendulous mounds. Her iridescent orbs follow each movement as her fingers trace around to her generous bottom. Cassandra was no slight waif of a woman, but the years had taught her that men prefer grasping warm flesh to stiff bones. "But who is here to grasp my flesh now..." she sighs.
Loneliness washes over her like a living thing, until again tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Getting up from the bench, she grabs her robe with a flourish and puts it on, the satin whispering along her skin. She stalks to the large picture window, looking out on the dark night before her. The moon shines brightly, illuminating the valley for miles, cars on the highway buzzing by, their lights making a red and white snake in the darkness. "I bet each of you has someone waiting for you. Someone to warm your bed at night." Cassandra turns away from the window and crawls onto the bed. The tears that had threatened fall as she closes her eyes and hugs the pillow tight.
His feeding done, he wafts off into the night, riding upon the soft night breeze. Life once again courses through his veins, sending a feeling of exuberance and wonderment throughout his being. Humans, they are such simple creatures, yet so complex in their needs, he muses as the air buoys him along. Thinking back on his deeds of the night he smiles, remembering how insistent and clumsy the young couple had been, caught up in the rapture of first love, unknowingly beckoning him with their lust. He was called like a moth to a flame as he awakened from his daily slumber. As a gift, he enveloped them in a cocoon of warmth, giving them each a "perfect" first experience, as a thank you for such a banquet.
Then there had been the angry wench, whose boyfriend had again been caught being unfaithful. That feed had been explosive and almost painful, the heat of her fury rising above her so that all he need do was be a voyeur to her dream and let the feeling burn through his gut. Their emotions fed him, kept him "alive" in a sense that no mortal being could understand. Did he need them? No. But, he chuckled to himself, it made the eons of existence more bearable. Yet, even the brightest of emotions could not hide the vast emptiness that dwelt within him. He gobbled up their passions like a starving man, wanting that rush of sentiment like an addict their drug. He could use his powers to fabricate anything in their mind, anything to make the feeling more intense, to make him feel more alive. But each day as the sun rose from its slumber he was chased back to his chambers and away from the land of dreams to dwell again on his singular life.
Turning on the wind he left that train of thought, unwilling to give up the heat of his stolen anger just yet. That was when he felt it: a twinge, a dull ache pressing against his skin. Misty eyes roamed the night sky, searching for the source. There. A slight hint of lavender along with a steady throb of solitude. His own anger rose to the front, and he turned away from the scent, not wanting to dwell further into such disturbing territory. But as he careened through the night, it pulled him, leaving a taste of something indescribable on his tongue. Knowing regret would come heavy after the feed, he let his form wander closer, riding the bouquet of lavender and ylang ylang to the source.
Drifting through the window, he finds her lost to dreamless sleep. Searching the mind of this mortal, he finds a multitude of memories, most meaningless and empty; moments spent with this or that wealthy male. Emotions whirl throughout her, all heavily cloaked by a sense of isolation and unworthiness, and of need for something more. Intrigued, he leaves her thoughts and focuses on her corporeal form. Uncommon beauty is the first thought upon his mind as he glides over her skin; smiling as the slightest touch of his essence raises the fine down of her flesh. Her instantaneous response further fascinates him. An almost unconscious decision is made to feed upon her, though he has been fully satisfied. She draws him and awakens in him a desire to know what flavors she will arouse upon his palate. His misty form surrounds her, holding her in a lover's embrace. His lips find her full mouth and the dream is unleashed...
The room is warm and welcoming, with candlelight dancing against the dusky red walls. There she stands, her white nightgown billowing in the breeze of the open balcony doors, the amber waves of her hair rustling softly. Soft music seems to emanate from the walls, lulling her thoughts and making her eyelids heavy as her hips gently sway back and forth. A rich musk floats upon the air, playing with her senses and opening her eyes to reveal the blue depths. The wind picks up its intensity, no longer just playing with her gown, but swirling it around her, joining in the primal beat of the music. It hugs her curves, sneaking and sliding around the dips and flares of her feminine form, perking the buds of her breasts and stealing the breath from her lips.
