His shadow remained idle. Unmoving was he for a few heartbeats; the space between was separated by one object. The door.
And he made sure to force it ajar with his shoulder with little regard to those who found themselves deep in slumber. Wood cracked and splinters were made, and for a moment, the inn-keeper swore that the storm unleashed a clap of thunder instead. The door did not fly from its hinges, nay, though it swung wide and made sure light would break in, melting away what shadows rested within.
She was against the table with her head dipped low; her golden gaze set downcast to her feet. Ciceroix had his blade drawn from its scabbard the moment his eyes adjusted to the image that stood before him. He had expected a woman viciously ready to strike, what he found was a broken, sad image. The nightgown hung from her naked shoulders, threatening to spill its straps along her forearms. Her legs were desperately trying to remain hidden behind the fabric, though the rip in the raiment exposed the length and muscle she had. He said not a word at first and was satisfied with just watching her for a moment; a woman who claimed the title of Viper took the shape of any ordinary elezen. Unimpressive she was in this light. Nothing significantly was astounding about her, except the fact that under the candle’s touch, he noticed the streaks that ran down her cheeks.
“Rivienne Navarre,†the steel is pointed to the ground as he cautiously approached her. His eyes scanned the vicinity for her arsenal, and he took notice that she had a few blades within her reach, but made little effort to move. Rumors, however, did well to remind him that the serpent was quick to draw steel, and such was noted. Thus his eyes settled on her hands, which were folded before the swell of her rounded hips.
Rivienne Navarre. The name sounds foreign even now.
The breath filled her lungs as she took it in, though it was shaky and weak in doing so. Wet lashes fluttered open as if awakened by a dream, a most somber dream. Her name rang in her ears; but it was not his voice she heard. Lifting her head, the tears which filled the basin of her eyes, finally found freedom at the heat of her cheeks. She was weeping in silence.
“By the Order of the Adder,†he started.
Rivienne pushed away from the desk and took a meek step forward.
“And by the Command of Ser Heulioux,†the blade rose slowly and he began to part his legs, getting to stance.
Calloused fingertips danced lightly along her bare clavicle; a feather’s touch trailed its length, barely brushing the curve of her chest. Her hands fall upon her breast, over the drumming of her weary heart. Ciceroix watched and took in her posture; vulnerable and weak she appeared. This was not a woman who was going to fight her fate.
“I knoweth well what mine punishment involves, for all serpents, who hide in the grass, art made aware of such. Silence wilt fall upon me soon, and I shall no longer feel the woe of sorrows,†Rivienne whispered into the air and met his gaze. Glassy eyes reflect the light that spills within the room, and Ciceroix reaches behind him, with a free hand, to close the door.
“Then you will come with me,†his voice grew softer as they both shared this room alone. Her perfume was evident now, since the door sealed it in. He took it in, the aroma of the forest, the leaves, the flowers and earth. It was her scent.
“If I am to go with thee,†she breathes the words and takes a grip of the fabric that embraces her curvature, “..then allow me a night to thinketh not of the penance I shall pay. Mine husband now rests in the embrace of the Fury, whilst I am damned to the hells below. The bed groweth cold, along with the heart faintly beating within me.â€
The offer was laced in her words, Ciceroix was no fool. He knew well that Heulioux was to rid her of breath; why not make her dying wish take bloom, and let him have the final taste of the Viper’s nectar. Duty and pleasure were meant not to blur, but in her state, she accepted already what was to come. There was no turning away, he caught her.
She watched in silence as the blade rose and was pointed back to its sheath. Steel brushed the leather within; the hilt tapped the edge. Ciceroix took a gaze of pity, but a delightful sensation ran through his form when distance shortened between their bodies. A gloved hand sought the curve of her cheek and, with a spark of avarice, he pulled her face close to his own. He smelled the saline of her tears, the sweet perfume of flora that clung to her hair. This Viper was no snake at all, a pathetic, mewling kitten she was.
Malleable under his touch, Rivienne felt her body become his possession. He took the small of her waist and tugged her close to his body. A pointed nose brushed her own and warm breath spills across her parted lips, lips that called forth to his own, beckoning them to join. But her eyes, her eyes were of glass, shimmering, beautifully wet and filled with despair. He looked into them before closing his own and stealing away the breath from her.
Rivienne’s hands rested along her sides; no movement was made toward any of her weapons; she stood still as he took in the inviting warmth from her lips. Her eyes were set on his face, never obscuring her sight as his grip tightened and he threatens to crush her into his frame. When his teeth graze her lower lip, and he pulls back and peppers his wet lips along her stained cheek, down the length of her jaw, until finding the slope of her neck. Quietly he murmurs, sounds that she cares not for, until he begins to breathe heavily.
Each breath becomes a struggle.
And he begins to realize that this was not the excitement taking its hold.
And he made sure to force it ajar with his shoulder with little regard to those who found themselves deep in slumber. Wood cracked and splinters were made, and for a moment, the inn-keeper swore that the storm unleashed a clap of thunder instead. The door did not fly from its hinges, nay, though it swung wide and made sure light would break in, melting away what shadows rested within.
She was against the table with her head dipped low; her golden gaze set downcast to her feet. Ciceroix had his blade drawn from its scabbard the moment his eyes adjusted to the image that stood before him. He had expected a woman viciously ready to strike, what he found was a broken, sad image. The nightgown hung from her naked shoulders, threatening to spill its straps along her forearms. Her legs were desperately trying to remain hidden behind the fabric, though the rip in the raiment exposed the length and muscle she had. He said not a word at first and was satisfied with just watching her for a moment; a woman who claimed the title of Viper took the shape of any ordinary elezen. Unimpressive she was in this light. Nothing significantly was astounding about her, except the fact that under the candle’s touch, he noticed the streaks that ran down her cheeks.
“Rivienne Navarre,†the steel is pointed to the ground as he cautiously approached her. His eyes scanned the vicinity for her arsenal, and he took notice that she had a few blades within her reach, but made little effort to move. Rumors, however, did well to remind him that the serpent was quick to draw steel, and such was noted. Thus his eyes settled on her hands, which were folded before the swell of her rounded hips.
Rivienne Navarre. The name sounds foreign even now.
The breath filled her lungs as she took it in, though it was shaky and weak in doing so. Wet lashes fluttered open as if awakened by a dream, a most somber dream. Her name rang in her ears; but it was not his voice she heard. Lifting her head, the tears which filled the basin of her eyes, finally found freedom at the heat of her cheeks. She was weeping in silence.
“By the Order of the Adder,†he started.
Rivienne pushed away from the desk and took a meek step forward.
“And by the Command of Ser Heulioux,†the blade rose slowly and he began to part his legs, getting to stance.
Calloused fingertips danced lightly along her bare clavicle; a feather’s touch trailed its length, barely brushing the curve of her chest. Her hands fall upon her breast, over the drumming of her weary heart. Ciceroix watched and took in her posture; vulnerable and weak she appeared. This was not a woman who was going to fight her fate.
“I knoweth well what mine punishment involves, for all serpents, who hide in the grass, art made aware of such. Silence wilt fall upon me soon, and I shall no longer feel the woe of sorrows,†Rivienne whispered into the air and met his gaze. Glassy eyes reflect the light that spills within the room, and Ciceroix reaches behind him, with a free hand, to close the door.
“Then you will come with me,†his voice grew softer as they both shared this room alone. Her perfume was evident now, since the door sealed it in. He took it in, the aroma of the forest, the leaves, the flowers and earth. It was her scent.
“If I am to go with thee,†she breathes the words and takes a grip of the fabric that embraces her curvature, “..then allow me a night to thinketh not of the penance I shall pay. Mine husband now rests in the embrace of the Fury, whilst I am damned to the hells below. The bed groweth cold, along with the heart faintly beating within me.â€
The offer was laced in her words, Ciceroix was no fool. He knew well that Heulioux was to rid her of breath; why not make her dying wish take bloom, and let him have the final taste of the Viper’s nectar. Duty and pleasure were meant not to blur, but in her state, she accepted already what was to come. There was no turning away, he caught her.
She watched in silence as the blade rose and was pointed back to its sheath. Steel brushed the leather within; the hilt tapped the edge. Ciceroix took a gaze of pity, but a delightful sensation ran through his form when distance shortened between their bodies. A gloved hand sought the curve of her cheek and, with a spark of avarice, he pulled her face close to his own. He smelled the saline of her tears, the sweet perfume of flora that clung to her hair. This Viper was no snake at all, a pathetic, mewling kitten she was.
Malleable under his touch, Rivienne felt her body become his possession. He took the small of her waist and tugged her close to his body. A pointed nose brushed her own and warm breath spills across her parted lips, lips that called forth to his own, beckoning them to join. But her eyes, her eyes were of glass, shimmering, beautifully wet and filled with despair. He looked into them before closing his own and stealing away the breath from her.
Rivienne’s hands rested along her sides; no movement was made toward any of her weapons; she stood still as he took in the inviting warmth from her lips. Her eyes were set on his face, never obscuring her sight as his grip tightened and he threatens to crush her into his frame. When his teeth graze her lower lip, and he pulls back and peppers his wet lips along her stained cheek, down the length of her jaw, until finding the slope of her neck. Quietly he murmurs, sounds that she cares not for, until he begins to breathe heavily.
Each breath becomes a struggle.
And he begins to realize that this was not the excitement taking its hold.
