Zeclawness

 Indeed I should have suspected her from the very moment she came into our lives-- one of Francis’ parisian courtesans. The difference with her being the proceeding of the whole affair: “Are we to be lovers?” He’d asked, with no caution at all, mind you, provided even I could hear it. She’s only replied “Perhaps”, crossing her legs, and putting out her hand for him to kiss it with an air of nonchalance.  The fact that he’d taken not only the initiative, but taken full charge of the whole affair should have seemed suspicious to me from the start, given he never did that, but we were all so infatuate

 What was I doing placing my hand on Andrew’s thigh like that, giving it a little affectionate squeeze before leaning over to kiss him ever so gently on the lips? It must have been something about his eyes, those tender blue eyes, so loving and over protective of anyone who gained his trust. But a married woman such as myself? I must have had a little too much champagne with the boys, had too much to drink and now my inhibitions were flawed. I just wanted so desperately to kiss him. Not even a passionate kiss, merely a peck. He had the type of lips in a man a girl couldn’t help but want to kiss. I felt an irrational jealousy over

 No one rose at the desired time (and what a terrible habit it was becoming!), and so it was noon or thereabouts when everyone began to hurry out of bed to eat whatever it was Juliana had cooked for all of us. I was the last to rise, though not by a few minutes from Andrew. Sophia had been the first, and it had probably been the smell of her delicious pastries which had woken Juliana up and made her realize she had to cook for all of us. My uncle’s country house was usually cared for by its usual staff-- an italian family, or something of the sort, but they’d abandoned us for our stay here for reasons I can’t quite recall, a

 It was a cloudy day. My favorite type of day. It wasn’t gray and terribly horrid, with black clouds threatening every corner, but rather a nice hazy day with a white overcast of clouds and a considerably decent amount of sunshine filtering through. I reveled in the chilliness of it, and it was obvious, as Andrew later on remarked, that I was in a charming mood. We rode enough up the hills that we could no longer see the house, when I spotted a pair of giant oaks near the lake. “This is heaven.” I thought. It would rain any moment now. Just a light drizzle. And I couldn’t wait to be caught in it. Andrew must have rea

 “Listen to me, sparky,” She said abruptly. I hadn’t taken notice of it before, but there was something entrancing about the woman’s voice, this sweet husky voice, raspy and low and almost seductive. A Russian voice, lightly accented, laced with years of drinking vodka smoking and cigarettes. It was so oddly fitting to her character, so bossy and domineering. It annoyed me to an extent, not very used to her almost trans-gender brand of female, but now I was growing used to it, and to her. Her short black hair tight and boy-cut, bangs falling just below her brows. She really was nothing I’d ever encountered before, a

 There is, as I feared, a bit of a sadist in me. What I sought to do with this little experiment was explore a different side to my personality, a side I’ve been hesitant to explore out of fear more than anything else, out of a vague awareness at the sheer panorama of irreversible truth and possibility. To say my relationship with him is complex would be an understatement. The both of us switch back and forth from dominant to submissive, that I’ve grown more and more confused as to what I really am, or what is expected of me. It isn’t a conscious switch. We don’t just suddenly agree to reverse roles and flip a switch, an

 There is something terribly wrong with me, and I can’t quite place what or why. I simply don’t understand. I wish things were the way they were before. I know I resented the Doll-maker for keeping me emotionally numb and restrained with the use of drugs and other sedatives, but I now understand the reason why. Emotion makes things earthly and vulgar. The gesture of emotion is a pleasant elegant thing, perhaps, but projecting real emotion and real feeling without any restraint-- without any control, that seems utterly distasteful to me. I have nothing against feeling, though I do consider it one of the lesser flaws of the human co

An uncontrollable shiver came over her, and she let out a deafening cry that pierced my ears with all the preternatural brutality of a banshee. She was holding her head back, throat bare, and collapsed on the floor, shaking violently as the blood tears slid down her face. She was a savage thing, sobbing on the floor, screaming as though she were in terrible pain, as though she were experiencing mortal death all over again. She was horrified. Her eyes were wide, her pupils shrunken and wild, covered with a thin film of red as the blood poured down her cheeks. I crushed her to me, wrapped my arms around her, trying to use the mind gift to re