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31_days2012-07-06 11:03 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-06 11:03 pm
6 July - Original - The Lady of Lorath.
Title: The Lady of Lorath
Day/Theme: July – “unless the cameras love me.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: Once she was young, many years ago.
She moves through the tables, holding court between those she calls to her side, and those who have yet to walk through the door. Her being holds sway over all much like high priestess in the throes of orgasm, flagging down one with hand wrapped around glass she murmurs in conversational tones, walking over to those she has yet to talk too, leaving others stumbling in her wake.
The perfume is glorious, its wafts around her a bitter mix of cigar and undefinable almost musky-earth scent, like walking through a field after the rains. . They watch her, this person who gestures with her hands when she talks, and when she throws her head back with bellowing laughter thats none the polite for the road, they wonder.. whats it like to bed her?
They see the way she treats the one she loves, there’s a hidden grace beneath the exterior that tells of how she will softly stroke her hand down his jawline, and look into his eyes for the years before they fall.. there’s this knowledge that unlike them this man goes home with her, he undresses her one piece of clothing at a time, and he slides his tongue, hands and body inside.
When he sleeps she rolls over and watches him, memorising all these features into her mind, thinking if she watches him then he will not disappear and she will not be alone, if she watches him and breathes him in, surely she'll know him as well as she knows herself.
Day/Theme: July – “unless the cameras love me.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: Once she was young, many years ago.
She moves through the tables, holding court between those she calls to her side, and those who have yet to walk through the door. Her being holds sway over all much like high priestess in the throes of orgasm, flagging down one with hand wrapped around glass she murmurs in conversational tones, walking over to those she has yet to talk too, leaving others stumbling in her wake.
The perfume is glorious, its wafts around her a bitter mix of cigar and undefinable almost musky-earth scent, like walking through a field after the rains. . They watch her, this person who gestures with her hands when she talks, and when she throws her head back with bellowing laughter thats none the polite for the road, they wonder.. whats it like to bed her?
They see the way she treats the one she loves, there’s a hidden grace beneath the exterior that tells of how she will softly stroke her hand down his jawline, and look into his eyes for the years before they fall.. there’s this knowledge that unlike them this man goes home with her, he undresses her one piece of clothing at a time, and he slides his tongue, hands and body inside.
When he sleeps she rolls over and watches him, memorising all these features into her mind, thinking if she watches him then he will not disappear and she will not be alone, if she watches him and breathes him in, surely she'll know him as well as she knows herself.