Cirque des Anges
La Danse
Mercy, cat-like in her graceful litheness, stood up, the folds of her ruined clothes shifting to hang over her small frame like a tarp. Around her paper white neck hung a gold chain, the weight of which was hidden beneath the neckline of whatever filthy garment she had on. The sharp bones protruded from her neck and the skin shone cold and hard as flint in the orange light. She glanced at the immense shadow of a vampire in the back of the tent and nodded, the rapturous smile stretching from ear to ear and even extending into the impassive violet eyes. Engrossed in deep thought, the figure in the back hardly shifted his eyes from the earthen floor to Mercy to acknowledge her nod.
Mercy walked seamlessly across the circle of orange light and extended a pale hand which Isabella grabbed. Charlotte and Criss made to stand, too, but Mercy closed her eyes and shook her head. First time is for Isabella only, Isabella heard in her head, but it seemed so natural to her that she didn’t question it. Mercy proceeded out of the tent, ducking only slightly to clear the tent flap, Isabella following behind.
Everything shone with a new intensity for Isabella; every label on every piece of trash on the ground looked focused and direct. Every blade of grass stood out from the others, impossible depth of color. The moon on the naked branches of the trees shone like whitened bone, and the textures of the very fabrics of the tents stood out in sharp contrast. The very sight of the carnival grounds in Isabella’s heightened state stole her breath and she gasped in cold shock. Had there been screaming kids to hear and bright, flashing neon lights to see, Isabella’s brain might not have handled it.
Mercy didn’t let the onslaught of Isabella’s new senses to delay their venture to find food; she pulled Isabella by the wrist across the dirt and stone and over the chain link fence. Mercy’s feet hit pavement and she was flying, her fingers curling over empty air as Isabella pulled her hand from the cold vice-like grasp. Isabella stretched her legs, wind whipping through her hair and fingering the contours of her face, pressing gently on her eyelids and whispering across her lips. Beside her, Mercy grinned as her dark hair tangled and waved in the gale.
The pair raced down an alleyway, feet barely skimming the ground, ever so often falling into a puddle and sending a spray of water up. Mercy suddenly stopped, reached out for Isabella’s wrist and put a finger to her lips. Around the corner a small girl lay against the concrete wall of an abandoned office building. Without the wind in her face, an impossibly delicious smell spread over her face and into her open nose and mouth. Like a magnet, Isabella drifted around the corner and closed in on the girl, two hands to her face and her mouth on the delicate, white neck. Teeth in skin, a fountain of blood red. Mouth on wound, warmth spreading to the every fiber of her beings, the very last nerve of every limb.
God, it tasted so good.Red cheeked she stood, hunger not nearly satisfied. Down another alley, the faintest aroma of red beneath thin skin. A maze of tiny veins beneath papery flesh, endless supply of glorified nourishment for a parched body. Murmur of a crazed lunatic one street down, breathing in the perfume of the Gods.
God, I feel whole again. Not even a struggle, pliant arms around a thin body, crushing his frame to hers to suck every ounce from his body. Not quite satisfied, dropped the body to the pavement, sucked dry. Raucous laughter of drunken buddies echoed between buildings of steel. Follow the sound, follow the smell of heaven in liquid form.
God, I can feel his heart flutter beneath my fingertips, as her hunger abated, she could feel the life draining below her stone palms, the pulsing of the blood in her throat as it spread to fill weary veins, still alive as it went down. One down, the buddy staring drunkenly at her. Flew from the dry body of one to plump red-cheeked, hot-blooded body of his friend.
God, fade quickly now, this dance I cannot stand, she thought desperately as her heart beat in time to the stuttering beat of the body she was draining. She pulled away from the irresistible beat and blocked all else from her mind, let the body slip from her grasp and fall to the ground on his friend’s. Almost human, she looked, but inhumane she felt; draining blood from innocent victims. Wrong place, wrong time, as is the law of luck.
“I can’t do this,” she mumbled, watching Mercy’s shadow fleetingly dance at the edges of her vision. Sick images flashed across her mind and she clasped her head in her hands, tangling long wisps of hair in her frozen fingers. Screamed in frustration, drops of red still clinging to the ripples in her lips. Human scent lingered on her skin, her clothes, too much to bear. Rain fell in driving sheets to the ground, a swift tattoo for her heart to hang on to as it demoralized itself. A hand on her shoulder, soft breath in her ear It will pass, my angel, be strong, said a joker in her mind.
Mercy walked seamlessly across the circle of orange light and extended a pale hand which Isabella grabbed. Charlotte and Criss made to stand, too, but Mercy closed her eyes and shook her head. First time is for Isabella only, Isabella heard in her head, but it seemed so natural to her that she didn’t question it. Mercy proceeded out of the tent, ducking only slightly to clear the tent flap, Isabella following behind.
Everything shone with a new intensity for Isabella; every label on every piece of trash on the ground looked focused and direct. Every blade of grass stood out from the others, impossible depth of color. The moon on the naked branches of the trees shone like whitened bone, and the textures of the very fabrics of the tents stood out in sharp contrast. The very sight of the carnival grounds in Isabella’s heightened state stole her breath and she gasped in cold shock. Had there been screaming kids to hear and bright, flashing neon lights to see, Isabella’s brain might not have handled it.
Mercy didn’t let the onslaught of Isabella’s new senses to delay their venture to find food; she pulled Isabella by the wrist across the dirt and stone and over the chain link fence. Mercy’s feet hit pavement and she was flying, her fingers curling over empty air as Isabella pulled her hand from the cold vice-like grasp. Isabella stretched her legs, wind whipping through her hair and fingering the contours of her face, pressing gently on her eyelids and whispering across her lips. Beside her, Mercy grinned as her dark hair tangled and waved in the gale.
The pair raced down an alleyway, feet barely skimming the ground, ever so often falling into a puddle and sending a spray of water up. Mercy suddenly stopped, reached out for Isabella’s wrist and put a finger to her lips. Around the corner a small girl lay against the concrete wall of an abandoned office building. Without the wind in her face, an impossibly delicious smell spread over her face and into her open nose and mouth. Like a magnet, Isabella drifted around the corner and closed in on the girl, two hands to her face and her mouth on the delicate, white neck. Teeth in skin, a fountain of blood red. Mouth on wound, warmth spreading to the every fiber of her beings, the very last nerve of every limb.
God, it tasted so good.Red cheeked she stood, hunger not nearly satisfied. Down another alley, the faintest aroma of red beneath thin skin. A maze of tiny veins beneath papery flesh, endless supply of glorified nourishment for a parched body. Murmur of a crazed lunatic one street down, breathing in the perfume of the Gods.
God, I feel whole again. Not even a struggle, pliant arms around a thin body, crushing his frame to hers to suck every ounce from his body. Not quite satisfied, dropped the body to the pavement, sucked dry. Raucous laughter of drunken buddies echoed between buildings of steel. Follow the sound, follow the smell of heaven in liquid form.
God, I can feel his heart flutter beneath my fingertips, as her hunger abated, she could feel the life draining below her stone palms, the pulsing of the blood in her throat as it spread to fill weary veins, still alive as it went down. One down, the buddy staring drunkenly at her. Flew from the dry body of one to plump red-cheeked, hot-blooded body of his friend.
God, fade quickly now, this dance I cannot stand, she thought desperately as her heart beat in time to the stuttering beat of the body she was draining. She pulled away from the irresistible beat and blocked all else from her mind, let the body slip from her grasp and fall to the ground on his friend’s. Almost human, she looked, but inhumane she felt; draining blood from innocent victims. Wrong place, wrong time, as is the law of luck.
“I can’t do this,” she mumbled, watching Mercy’s shadow fleetingly dance at the edges of her vision. Sick images flashed across her mind and she clasped her head in her hands, tangling long wisps of hair in her frozen fingers. Screamed in frustration, drops of red still clinging to the ripples in her lips. Human scent lingered on her skin, her clothes, too much to bear. Rain fell in driving sheets to the ground, a swift tattoo for her heart to hang on to as it demoralized itself. A hand on her shoulder, soft breath in her ear It will pass, my angel, be strong, said a joker in her mind.