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Anastasia crumpled the letter in her hands, a curious expression set upon her features. She'd read through it not once, but thrice, poring over every Coptic word as a semblance of surprise replaced the curiosity. Akhenaten was coming by the villa, taking her out on the town again? She figured that their reunion, after nearly a week of relative silence, would be somewhere more... intimate? They had words to say to one another, with Ana given to bitterness over her treatment at his hands, and the dubious misdirection.
She wasn't sure what to expect. Would Akhenaten forget all of this and they simply... continue on? She thought on it for a time, letting the letter serve as fuel for the fire of the opium-laced incense she preferred to burn. She'd dismissed servants some time ago, to allow herself to indulge in solitude. She figured that she might need it, to smooth over the edges of her resentment. The Fallen Star, for all of the problems she faced with Akhenaten now, still held this attachment to him.
Entranced by his charm and confidence, finding a mirror in her own, it was difficult to just relinquish any of it. So, the woman allowed her breath to fill with opium-tinged air, the waves of pleasure tinging colour into her cheeks as she relaxed against the chaise in her villa's sitting room. Naturally, her gaze roamed the wall, finding the painting that Hena had made for her. Many a time, over the weeks since their altercation she'd stared at it wistfully, and this was no different. Once she looked outside to the shadow clock. The skies were growing dark, and the thing bore little clue to exactly what the hour was any longer.
She figured that meant it was nearing the time Hena would come for her. The Fallen Star rose from her place, that pulse that trickled along the soles of her feet bringing an echoing laughter from her lips. A bronze, mirrored dish sat in her bedroom, catching her gaze for but a moment before she washed herself, letting the stresses of the day wither away under the calming heat of prepared water. The servants did their duty well, and Anastasia relished in the spoils of Hena's attentions before carefully applying the carmine and malachite that matched the tones of the small emerald stones embedded in the dark kalasiris. A thin plane of fabric covered her slight breasts, wrapping around the delicate curves of her body. With dark waves of hair cascading about her shoulders, the 'Siren Given Legs' admired herself in that dish, confident in her ability to knock the wind out of her lover's chest.
A lopsided grin caught upon Ana's lips, just before she blew herself a kiss in the mirror and drew towards the station in the sitting room where the dying embers of her incense adventure still burned. Stoking the flames once more, the bard relished in the sinking pleasure, but did not yet drink. If Akhenaten was taking her out, she was confident in the fact that they'd be well and truly drunk before the night was over. As the sun retreated into the shadowy horizon, Ana counted down the time, waiting for the gallant young man in the painting to come to her in a corporeal form.
Lazily, Anastasia's mind drifted, from Akhenaten and what might await her in his visit, over to her other. Ana still bore subtle marks of her last night with the woman, so recent... still the scuff marks from her bound wrists told a subtle tale of what had transpired. While a shawl covered over Anastasia's shoulders, she lacked confidence in her ability to hide such things. A frown nursed her features before another intake of breath and the resounding pleasure of poppy's influence coursed through her.
Everything's fine, she thought, hoping ardently for those words to be true.
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Anastasia crumpled the letter in her hands, a curious expression set upon her features. She'd read through it not once, but thrice, poring over every Coptic word as a semblance of surprise replaced the curiosity. Akhenaten was coming by the villa, taking her out on the town again? She figured that their reunion, after nearly a week of relative silence, would be somewhere more... intimate? They had words to say to one another, with Ana given to bitterness over her treatment at his hands, and the dubious misdirection.
She wasn't sure what to expect. Would Akhenaten forget all of this and they simply... continue on? She thought on it for a time, letting the letter serve as fuel for the fire of the opium-laced incense she preferred to burn. She'd dismissed servants some time ago, to allow herself to indulge in solitude. She figured that she might need it, to smooth over the edges of her resentment. The Fallen Star, for all of the problems she faced with Akhenaten now, still held this attachment to him.
Entranced by his charm and confidence, finding a mirror in her own, it was difficult to just relinquish any of it. So, the woman allowed her breath to fill with opium-tinged air, the waves of pleasure tinging colour into her cheeks as she relaxed against the chaise in her villa's sitting room. Naturally, her gaze roamed the wall, finding the painting that Hena had made for her. Many a time, over the weeks since their altercation she'd stared at it wistfully, and this was no different. Once she looked outside to the shadow clock. The skies were growing dark, and the thing bore little clue to exactly what the hour was any longer.
She figured that meant it was nearing the time Hena would come for her. The Fallen Star rose from her place, that pulse that trickled along the soles of her feet bringing an echoing laughter from her lips. A bronze, mirrored dish sat in her bedroom, catching her gaze for but a moment before she washed herself, letting the stresses of the day wither away under the calming heat of prepared water. The servants did their duty well, and Anastasia relished in the spoils of Hena's attentions before carefully applying the carmine and malachite that matched the tones of the small emerald stones embedded in the dark kalasiris. A thin plane of fabric covered her slight breasts, wrapping around the delicate curves of her body. With dark waves of hair cascading about her shoulders, the 'Siren Given Legs' admired herself in that dish, confident in her ability to knock the wind out of her lover's chest.
A lopsided grin caught upon Ana's lips, just before she blew herself a kiss in the mirror and drew towards the station in the sitting room where the dying embers of her incense adventure still burned. Stoking the flames once more, the bard relished in the sinking pleasure, but did not yet drink. If Akhenaten was taking her out, she was confident in the fact that they'd be well and truly drunk before the night was over. As the sun retreated into the shadowy horizon, Ana counted down the time, waiting for the gallant young man in the painting to come to her in a corporeal form.
Lazily, Anastasia's mind drifted, from Akhenaten and what might await her in his visit, over to her other. Ana still bore subtle marks of her last night with the woman, so recent... still the scuff marks from her bound wrists told a subtle tale of what had transpired. While a shawl covered over Anastasia's shoulders, she lacked confidence in her ability to hide such things. A frown nursed her features before another intake of breath and the resounding pleasure of poppy's influence coursed through her.
Everything's fine, she thought, hoping ardently for those words to be true.
Anastasia crumpled the letter in her hands, a curious expression set upon her features. She'd read through it not once, but thrice, poring over every Coptic word as a semblance of surprise replaced the curiosity. Akhenaten was coming by the villa, taking her out on the town again? She figured that their reunion, after nearly a week of relative silence, would be somewhere more... intimate? They had words to say to one another, with Ana given to bitterness over her treatment at his hands, and the dubious misdirection.
She wasn't sure what to expect. Would Akhenaten forget all of this and they simply... continue on? She thought on it for a time, letting the letter serve as fuel for the fire of the opium-laced incense she preferred to burn. She'd dismissed servants some time ago, to allow herself to indulge in solitude. She figured that she might need it, to smooth over the edges of her resentment. The Fallen Star, for all of the problems she faced with Akhenaten now, still held this attachment to him.
Entranced by his charm and confidence, finding a mirror in her own, it was difficult to just relinquish any of it. So, the woman allowed her breath to fill with opium-tinged air, the waves of pleasure tinging colour into her cheeks as she relaxed against the chaise in her villa's sitting room. Naturally, her gaze roamed the wall, finding the painting that Hena had made for her. Many a time, over the weeks since their altercation she'd stared at it wistfully, and this was no different. Once she looked outside to the shadow clock. The skies were growing dark, and the thing bore little clue to exactly what the hour was any longer.
She figured that meant it was nearing the time Hena would come for her. The Fallen Star rose from her place, that pulse that trickled along the soles of her feet bringing an echoing laughter from her lips. A bronze, mirrored dish sat in her bedroom, catching her gaze for but a moment before she washed herself, letting the stresses of the day wither away under the calming heat of prepared water. The servants did their duty well, and Anastasia relished in the spoils of Hena's attentions before carefully applying the carmine and malachite that matched the tones of the small emerald stones embedded in the dark kalasiris. A thin plane of fabric covered her slight breasts, wrapping around the delicate curves of her body. With dark waves of hair cascading about her shoulders, the 'Siren Given Legs' admired herself in that dish, confident in her ability to knock the wind out of her lover's chest.
A lopsided grin caught upon Ana's lips, just before she blew herself a kiss in the mirror and drew towards the station in the sitting room where the dying embers of her incense adventure still burned. Stoking the flames once more, the bard relished in the sinking pleasure, but did not yet drink. If Akhenaten was taking her out, she was confident in the fact that they'd be well and truly drunk before the night was over. As the sun retreated into the shadowy horizon, Ana counted down the time, waiting for the gallant young man in the painting to come to her in a corporeal form.
Lazily, Anastasia's mind drifted, from Akhenaten and what might await her in his visit, over to her other. Ana still bore subtle marks of her last night with the woman, so recent... still the scuff marks from her bound wrists told a subtle tale of what had transpired. While a shawl covered over Anastasia's shoulders, she lacked confidence in her ability to hide such things. A frown nursed her features before another intake of breath and the resounding pleasure of poppy's influence coursed through her.
Everything's fine, she thought, hoping ardently for those words to be true.
Hena was angry. Perhaps angrier than he had ever been in his life. He had his suspicions, something was up with Chione and Ana, he had suspected something, the way they had been in the tavern that day had felt off to him. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but he had set a slave to follow Ana when he wasn’t around. He needed to know what was happening.
Perhaps some would call him paranoid, but as it turned out, he was right. And it was not what he had expected. They were lovers. Technically Hena hadn’t specified that she couldn’t sleep with anyone else, he had only said other men, but he hadn’t thought he needed to clarify. Ana had been sneaking around, and the slave reported several times when the two of them had met when Hena had been doing business or otherwise occupied.
He was heart broken, and perhaps the hurt mingling with the anger was what kept his mind clear enough to have a proper plan instead of flying into one of his usual rages. So he had written his lover a letter, stating he wanted to meet her at her villa, that he would be taking her out.
That would ensure she was there to witness what happened when you messed with Akhenaten H’Sheifa.
He had given his slaves specific orders, they would be sneaking into the villa when he confronted her, spilling the oil to ensure that everything inside would be destroyed. He couldn’t care if anyone was inside when he lit it.
He was dressed as he usually was, gold accents showing his title and wealth as he walked through the street, a determined look of anger on his face.
He arrived at the villa. The place he had custom designed to house the woman he loved, the villa containing the painting he had spent hours doing of the two of them. He had opened his heart to her, and this was how she repaid him?
Today she would learn.
He stepped into the villa, calling out as he entered.
“Ana!” He shouted, his way of summoning her to him. He turned his back to where she would approach from, staring up at the large painting. She had displayed it, as if she was proud of the man who had done it for her, as if she cared for the H’Sheifa heir in the slightest way.
He felt his rage begin to bubble higher staring at it. It would burn, as it deserved to, and Hena would cleanse this woman from his life. He would not stand for such infidelity against him, not from someone who had promised to love him, had promised to be his.
He would have his justice soon enough, as soon as she found her way to the man she thought she had wrapped around her finger. She was about to learn a harsh lesson about the real world consequences of her decisions and actions. Perhaps she would think twice next time she was given so much by someone she claimed to love.
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Feb 8, 2021 17:51:08 GMT
Posted In this is fine on Feb 8, 2021 17:51:08 GMT
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Hena was angry. Perhaps angrier than he had ever been in his life. He had his suspicions, something was up with Chione and Ana, he had suspected something, the way they had been in the tavern that day had felt off to him. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but he had set a slave to follow Ana when he wasn’t around. He needed to know what was happening.
Perhaps some would call him paranoid, but as it turned out, he was right. And it was not what he had expected. They were lovers. Technically Hena hadn’t specified that she couldn’t sleep with anyone else, he had only said other men, but he hadn’t thought he needed to clarify. Ana had been sneaking around, and the slave reported several times when the two of them had met when Hena had been doing business or otherwise occupied.
He was heart broken, and perhaps the hurt mingling with the anger was what kept his mind clear enough to have a proper plan instead of flying into one of his usual rages. So he had written his lover a letter, stating he wanted to meet her at her villa, that he would be taking her out.
That would ensure she was there to witness what happened when you messed with Akhenaten H’Sheifa.
He had given his slaves specific orders, they would be sneaking into the villa when he confronted her, spilling the oil to ensure that everything inside would be destroyed. He couldn’t care if anyone was inside when he lit it.
He was dressed as he usually was, gold accents showing his title and wealth as he walked through the street, a determined look of anger on his face.
He arrived at the villa. The place he had custom designed to house the woman he loved, the villa containing the painting he had spent hours doing of the two of them. He had opened his heart to her, and this was how she repaid him?
Today she would learn.
He stepped into the villa, calling out as he entered.
“Ana!” He shouted, his way of summoning her to him. He turned his back to where she would approach from, staring up at the large painting. She had displayed it, as if she was proud of the man who had done it for her, as if she cared for the H’Sheifa heir in the slightest way.
He felt his rage begin to bubble higher staring at it. It would burn, as it deserved to, and Hena would cleanse this woman from his life. He would not stand for such infidelity against him, not from someone who had promised to love him, had promised to be his.
He would have his justice soon enough, as soon as she found her way to the man she thought she had wrapped around her finger. She was about to learn a harsh lesson about the real world consequences of her decisions and actions. Perhaps she would think twice next time she was given so much by someone she claimed to love.
Hena was angry. Perhaps angrier than he had ever been in his life. He had his suspicions, something was up with Chione and Ana, he had suspected something, the way they had been in the tavern that day had felt off to him. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but he had set a slave to follow Ana when he wasn’t around. He needed to know what was happening.
Perhaps some would call him paranoid, but as it turned out, he was right. And it was not what he had expected. They were lovers. Technically Hena hadn’t specified that she couldn’t sleep with anyone else, he had only said other men, but he hadn’t thought he needed to clarify. Ana had been sneaking around, and the slave reported several times when the two of them had met when Hena had been doing business or otherwise occupied.
He was heart broken, and perhaps the hurt mingling with the anger was what kept his mind clear enough to have a proper plan instead of flying into one of his usual rages. So he had written his lover a letter, stating he wanted to meet her at her villa, that he would be taking her out.
That would ensure she was there to witness what happened when you messed with Akhenaten H’Sheifa.
He had given his slaves specific orders, they would be sneaking into the villa when he confronted her, spilling the oil to ensure that everything inside would be destroyed. He couldn’t care if anyone was inside when he lit it.
He was dressed as he usually was, gold accents showing his title and wealth as he walked through the street, a determined look of anger on his face.
He arrived at the villa. The place he had custom designed to house the woman he loved, the villa containing the painting he had spent hours doing of the two of them. He had opened his heart to her, and this was how she repaid him?
Today she would learn.
He stepped into the villa, calling out as he entered.
“Ana!” He shouted, his way of summoning her to him. He turned his back to where she would approach from, staring up at the large painting. She had displayed it, as if she was proud of the man who had done it for her, as if she cared for the H’Sheifa heir in the slightest way.
He felt his rage begin to bubble higher staring at it. It would burn, as it deserved to, and Hena would cleanse this woman from his life. He would not stand for such infidelity against him, not from someone who had promised to love him, had promised to be his.
He would have his justice soon enough, as soon as she found her way to the man she thought she had wrapped around her finger. She was about to learn a harsh lesson about the real world consequences of her decisions and actions. Perhaps she would think twice next time she was given so much by someone she claimed to love.
That strike changed everything between Akhenaten and Anastasia.
The siren didn't yet know the extent of it yet, nor did she understand what was happening. Content to prepare herself for a night out, she wished desperately to be able to smooth out her recent differences with Akhenaten. She was willing to forgive him, particularly given the sense of unrepentant guilt that permeated around her more and more these days.
Truly, Anastasia did lament how circumstances worked. How was she to know that her heart would go in two directions? Always, she held a careful guard over her feelings. Anastasia, the fallen star. Teller of tall tales, of fantastical odes of victory or devastating tragedy. A weaver of love stories, never one to believe in them in the slightest. To her, the past worship of Hera and Aphrodite was done in celebration of others, or in reaping the reward of carnal pleasure for its own sake.
But, her resistance eroded away. Akhenaten had shown her what it was to loosen that guard, and the feelings she'd felt for him were real. But, so too, was the decadent snare of Chione's affections. Unexpected but inevitable, meeting Chione H'Isazari in the garden of the Sheifa property might have proven her undoing. Because now... she felt the pull throw her in that woman's direction. Too early to say definitively, but Anastasia could not hide from the pit in her chest when they were separated.
"Ana!"
Her name was shouted from the other room, bellowing in its volume and quite lacking in a certain... cadence of affection. Often, Hena spoke gently to her and yet right as he arrived to abscond her away on some date... he called her like some tavern wench? The fallen stare was indignant, but did not immediately jump to conclusions. Perhaps he was just... impatient? He wanted so desperately to see her. She told herself the comforting lies so as to ignore the feeling of dread that began to well in her gut.
"Yes, Hena dear. I'm just fixing myself up for you," she offered in playful retort, up until the last bit of malachite coated her eyelid and she was ready to emerge, a stunning visage, from her room. But, already, there was something amiss. While the slaves silenced their footsteps, the smell was impossible to ignore.
"What's going on?" she said, making her way closer to the door and farther away from the alarming scent. It seemed like burning oil, but she didn't smell smoke or see anything it could be poured into. Was this some sort of surprise for her? The fallen star couldn't shake that dreadful feeling welling in her gut, inching closer to the door. She was too close to Hena and had not yet embraced him or given him any sort of welcoming kiss.
This entire thing was too suspicious for any sort of affection.
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Feb 12, 2021 6:54:04 GMT
Posted In this is fine on Feb 12, 2021 6:54:04 GMT
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That strike changed everything between Akhenaten and Anastasia.
The siren didn't yet know the extent of it yet, nor did she understand what was happening. Content to prepare herself for a night out, she wished desperately to be able to smooth out her recent differences with Akhenaten. She was willing to forgive him, particularly given the sense of unrepentant guilt that permeated around her more and more these days.
Truly, Anastasia did lament how circumstances worked. How was she to know that her heart would go in two directions? Always, she held a careful guard over her feelings. Anastasia, the fallen star. Teller of tall tales, of fantastical odes of victory or devastating tragedy. A weaver of love stories, never one to believe in them in the slightest. To her, the past worship of Hera and Aphrodite was done in celebration of others, or in reaping the reward of carnal pleasure for its own sake.
But, her resistance eroded away. Akhenaten had shown her what it was to loosen that guard, and the feelings she'd felt for him were real. But, so too, was the decadent snare of Chione's affections. Unexpected but inevitable, meeting Chione H'Isazari in the garden of the Sheifa property might have proven her undoing. Because now... she felt the pull throw her in that woman's direction. Too early to say definitively, but Anastasia could not hide from the pit in her chest when they were separated.
"Ana!"
Her name was shouted from the other room, bellowing in its volume and quite lacking in a certain... cadence of affection. Often, Hena spoke gently to her and yet right as he arrived to abscond her away on some date... he called her like some tavern wench? The fallen stare was indignant, but did not immediately jump to conclusions. Perhaps he was just... impatient? He wanted so desperately to see her. She told herself the comforting lies so as to ignore the feeling of dread that began to well in her gut.
"Yes, Hena dear. I'm just fixing myself up for you," she offered in playful retort, up until the last bit of malachite coated her eyelid and she was ready to emerge, a stunning visage, from her room. But, already, there was something amiss. While the slaves silenced their footsteps, the smell was impossible to ignore.
"What's going on?" she said, making her way closer to the door and farther away from the alarming scent. It seemed like burning oil, but she didn't smell smoke or see anything it could be poured into. Was this some sort of surprise for her? The fallen star couldn't shake that dreadful feeling welling in her gut, inching closer to the door. She was too close to Hena and had not yet embraced him or given him any sort of welcoming kiss.
This entire thing was too suspicious for any sort of affection.
That strike changed everything between Akhenaten and Anastasia.
The siren didn't yet know the extent of it yet, nor did she understand what was happening. Content to prepare herself for a night out, she wished desperately to be able to smooth out her recent differences with Akhenaten. She was willing to forgive him, particularly given the sense of unrepentant guilt that permeated around her more and more these days.
Truly, Anastasia did lament how circumstances worked. How was she to know that her heart would go in two directions? Always, she held a careful guard over her feelings. Anastasia, the fallen star. Teller of tall tales, of fantastical odes of victory or devastating tragedy. A weaver of love stories, never one to believe in them in the slightest. To her, the past worship of Hera and Aphrodite was done in celebration of others, or in reaping the reward of carnal pleasure for its own sake.
But, her resistance eroded away. Akhenaten had shown her what it was to loosen that guard, and the feelings she'd felt for him were real. But, so too, was the decadent snare of Chione's affections. Unexpected but inevitable, meeting Chione H'Isazari in the garden of the Sheifa property might have proven her undoing. Because now... she felt the pull throw her in that woman's direction. Too early to say definitively, but Anastasia could not hide from the pit in her chest when they were separated.
"Ana!"
Her name was shouted from the other room, bellowing in its volume and quite lacking in a certain... cadence of affection. Often, Hena spoke gently to her and yet right as he arrived to abscond her away on some date... he called her like some tavern wench? The fallen stare was indignant, but did not immediately jump to conclusions. Perhaps he was just... impatient? He wanted so desperately to see her. She told herself the comforting lies so as to ignore the feeling of dread that began to well in her gut.
"Yes, Hena dear. I'm just fixing myself up for you," she offered in playful retort, up until the last bit of malachite coated her eyelid and she was ready to emerge, a stunning visage, from her room. But, already, there was something amiss. While the slaves silenced their footsteps, the smell was impossible to ignore.
"What's going on?" she said, making her way closer to the door and farther away from the alarming scent. It seemed like burning oil, but she didn't smell smoke or see anything it could be poured into. Was this some sort of surprise for her? The fallen star couldn't shake that dreadful feeling welling in her gut, inching closer to the door. She was too close to Hena and had not yet embraced him or given him any sort of welcoming kiss.
This entire thing was too suspicious for any sort of affection.
As she called out that she was getting ready for him, he couldn’t help but spitefully think ‘This will be the last time you will preen yourself on my gold.’
He couldn’t wait to watch her face as the comfortable life she had scammed from him burnt down around her. He had half a mind to make sure she burned alive along with her precious items, items that he had been fool enough to gift her.
But as angry as he was, he still held love for her, at least enough that he couldn’t bring himself to kill her. In that she was lucky, he would face no consequences, of that he was sure. Who would accuse a noble, especially one in such a high standing family, of the murder of some common woman? No one, even if they did find reason to suspect him.
She could easily have perished in a fire, an accident caused by a light given too much fuel. It would be all too easy to see her burn and be blameless in it, of that he was sure.
But she would not find death at his hands, at least not this day.
And then there she was, standing in front of him, even through his anger she looked radiant and inviting, and he wished that she hadn’t betrayed him, that she had stayed true. It was her fault they were here. She had been given the world, and she had chosen this fate for herself. Her actions, her false affection for the young Lord, this is what had lead her to this moment.
He stood there for just a moment, then he stepped forward and cupped her cheek, pressing a kiss to her lips. But this one was different, while it held all of his love behind it, it was the last kiss they would ever share. It was the last kiss before she faced the wrath she had brought upon herself.
As the kiss broke, he ran his thumb across her cheek, looking into her eyes for just a moment before he whispered to her, in a voice that was both gentle and dangerous, he could smell the faint scent of the smoke as the slaves light the flames that would quickly engulf the villa and take everything away from her. A last dramatic act.
“I will take everything from you, as you have done to me.” Were the words he spoke.
The flames were getting loud now, ripping through the villa and burning up anything and everything around them.
As a final act, he grabbed a piece of cloth, not even sure what it was, lighting the end of it, the threw it at the painting he had done for her, the large canvas easily catching alight. He watched with a sense of vindication as the image of Ana painted upon the canvas turned into nothing but violent flames.
By now, the villa was beyond saving, and the flames were quickly rushing into the room where they stood. With a serene calmness, he walked out of the front of the building, as if it wasn’t currently engulfed in flames. His slaves met him outside, and he started the journey away from the villa with sights set on better things to come.
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As she called out that she was getting ready for him, he couldn’t help but spitefully think ‘This will be the last time you will preen yourself on my gold.’
He couldn’t wait to watch her face as the comfortable life she had scammed from him burnt down around her. He had half a mind to make sure she burned alive along with her precious items, items that he had been fool enough to gift her.
But as angry as he was, he still held love for her, at least enough that he couldn’t bring himself to kill her. In that she was lucky, he would face no consequences, of that he was sure. Who would accuse a noble, especially one in such a high standing family, of the murder of some common woman? No one, even if they did find reason to suspect him.
She could easily have perished in a fire, an accident caused by a light given too much fuel. It would be all too easy to see her burn and be blameless in it, of that he was sure.
But she would not find death at his hands, at least not this day.
And then there she was, standing in front of him, even through his anger she looked radiant and inviting, and he wished that she hadn’t betrayed him, that she had stayed true. It was her fault they were here. She had been given the world, and she had chosen this fate for herself. Her actions, her false affection for the young Lord, this is what had lead her to this moment.
He stood there for just a moment, then he stepped forward and cupped her cheek, pressing a kiss to her lips. But this one was different, while it held all of his love behind it, it was the last kiss they would ever share. It was the last kiss before she faced the wrath she had brought upon herself.
As the kiss broke, he ran his thumb across her cheek, looking into her eyes for just a moment before he whispered to her, in a voice that was both gentle and dangerous, he could smell the faint scent of the smoke as the slaves light the flames that would quickly engulf the villa and take everything away from her. A last dramatic act.
“I will take everything from you, as you have done to me.” Were the words he spoke.
The flames were getting loud now, ripping through the villa and burning up anything and everything around them.
As a final act, he grabbed a piece of cloth, not even sure what it was, lighting the end of it, the threw it at the painting he had done for her, the large canvas easily catching alight. He watched with a sense of vindication as the image of Ana painted upon the canvas turned into nothing but violent flames.
By now, the villa was beyond saving, and the flames were quickly rushing into the room where they stood. With a serene calmness, he walked out of the front of the building, as if it wasn’t currently engulfed in flames. His slaves met him outside, and he started the journey away from the villa with sights set on better things to come.
As she called out that she was getting ready for him, he couldn’t help but spitefully think ‘This will be the last time you will preen yourself on my gold.’
He couldn’t wait to watch her face as the comfortable life she had scammed from him burnt down around her. He had half a mind to make sure she burned alive along with her precious items, items that he had been fool enough to gift her.
But as angry as he was, he still held love for her, at least enough that he couldn’t bring himself to kill her. In that she was lucky, he would face no consequences, of that he was sure. Who would accuse a noble, especially one in such a high standing family, of the murder of some common woman? No one, even if they did find reason to suspect him.
She could easily have perished in a fire, an accident caused by a light given too much fuel. It would be all too easy to see her burn and be blameless in it, of that he was sure.
But she would not find death at his hands, at least not this day.
And then there she was, standing in front of him, even through his anger she looked radiant and inviting, and he wished that she hadn’t betrayed him, that she had stayed true. It was her fault they were here. She had been given the world, and she had chosen this fate for herself. Her actions, her false affection for the young Lord, this is what had lead her to this moment.
He stood there for just a moment, then he stepped forward and cupped her cheek, pressing a kiss to her lips. But this one was different, while it held all of his love behind it, it was the last kiss they would ever share. It was the last kiss before she faced the wrath she had brought upon herself.
As the kiss broke, he ran his thumb across her cheek, looking into her eyes for just a moment before he whispered to her, in a voice that was both gentle and dangerous, he could smell the faint scent of the smoke as the slaves light the flames that would quickly engulf the villa and take everything away from her. A last dramatic act.
“I will take everything from you, as you have done to me.” Were the words he spoke.
The flames were getting loud now, ripping through the villa and burning up anything and everything around them.
As a final act, he grabbed a piece of cloth, not even sure what it was, lighting the end of it, the threw it at the painting he had done for her, the large canvas easily catching alight. He watched with a sense of vindication as the image of Ana painted upon the canvas turned into nothing but violent flames.
By now, the villa was beyond saving, and the flames were quickly rushing into the room where they stood. With a serene calmness, he walked out of the front of the building, as if it wasn’t currently engulfed in flames. His slaves met him outside, and he started the journey away from the villa with sights set on better things to come.
As fingers cupped Anastasia's cheek, the Greek couldn't help but feel a tinge of apprehension. She pressed her lips into his kiss, but did not cradle her body against his, nor did insist on wrapping her arms around him. Had she known what he was planning, she might've lashed out against him then, just as their lips parted and she was kept in a lingering gaze with him. She awaited his words, or for him to move, for something to happen until...
He spoke.
Those chilling words burrowed into her very soul, the woman's treachery laid bare before her in the way that low danger reverberated past his lips. Anastasia had spent a great deal of time, carefully curating this living space until it seemed just as much a part of her as her lips or throat. She felt the smoke tinge against her eyes, just as his words truly sank into her.
He knows.
But, he'd worded his expectations carefully, had he not? He'd implied directly that he had every intention of sharing himself with other woman. Why was he explicitly given such a pleasure? Such freedom?
I never left Egypt... My heart...
Oh.
In her heart, she knew his anger to be justified as the glowing features of Chione H'Isazari flashed into her mind. Then, the man took a hold of her favoured shawl, which she'd intended to wear on their night together, and lit it on fire right in front of her. As he threw it, Ana looked back to see the painting he'd worked so hard on for her engulf in fire, her eyes wide, reflecting the roaring inferno that waxed and waxed. The heat of it was suffocating, the smoke stinging her eyes and seeping into her lungs as Akhenaten moved from the door to the outside world.
Frantic fingers clutched at her throat, searching in vain for the pendant that clashed terribly with her outfit. Gold and emerald was the choice of the evening, and the dazzling sapphire and silver... it was ignored. As Akhenaten left the villa and his now ex-lover behind, she collapsed to the floor, looking at the room as it erupted around her, the heat stinging at her arms, her legs, and the smoke seeping into her clothes and stinging her pores before she could bear it no longer.
My mother's pendant...
It burned just as everything else did, out of sight as the banshee's scream erupted from her lips. She threw herself out of the villa, collapsed onto the floor. Sand seeped into her dress, stinging at the bared skin but she paid no mind to it as tears fought against the smoke, a contest of which would sting her most in full sway as she...
When did...
It didn't matter.
How...
She would never know.
Why...
To spite her. To strike her just as he had before. The aching of her throat was long gone, but replaced instead by the crushing weight on her lungs as she screamed her lament into the void. Her face buried in her hands and pressed into the sand, the flames licked at the villa until it crumbled under its own weight.
Why didn't he...
He wanted to torture her, to watch their life together erupt and then... was he too much of a coward to end her himself? Or did he spare her only to send what remained of the Egyptian guard after her for the blasphemy he now knew to be fact. Anastasia made no effort to find out. Fingers clutching anew at her throat, she left the ruined villa behind, her mind clinging to the visage of her painted body distorting under the flames just as she ripped the emeralds from fabric, leaving holes in it that she had no intention of repairing.
Where should I go?
She had no idea. To inform Chione of this travesty would only put her in danger if Akhenaten didn't already send people after her. Rather than risk the woman's safety by sheltering her, Anastasia clutched those jewels in her hand as she crawled to her feet. Malachite ran in streaks along her face as a slow, specter's gait took her to the market. Selling the emeralds in her hand for far less than their worth, she cleaned herself of the streaks and left part of herself in that villa. She tore the fabric she wore aside, purchasing a simple white kalasiris to shelter her body in as she shambled towards the docks of Cairo, intent on leaving it behind for long enough to...
To what?
She didn't know, but she wasn't going to find out here.
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As fingers cupped Anastasia's cheek, the Greek couldn't help but feel a tinge of apprehension. She pressed her lips into his kiss, but did not cradle her body against his, nor did insist on wrapping her arms around him. Had she known what he was planning, she might've lashed out against him then, just as their lips parted and she was kept in a lingering gaze with him. She awaited his words, or for him to move, for something to happen until...
He spoke.
Those chilling words burrowed into her very soul, the woman's treachery laid bare before her in the way that low danger reverberated past his lips. Anastasia had spent a great deal of time, carefully curating this living space until it seemed just as much a part of her as her lips or throat. She felt the smoke tinge against her eyes, just as his words truly sank into her.
He knows.
But, he'd worded his expectations carefully, had he not? He'd implied directly that he had every intention of sharing himself with other woman. Why was he explicitly given such a pleasure? Such freedom?
I never left Egypt... My heart...
Oh.
In her heart, she knew his anger to be justified as the glowing features of Chione H'Isazari flashed into her mind. Then, the man took a hold of her favoured shawl, which she'd intended to wear on their night together, and lit it on fire right in front of her. As he threw it, Ana looked back to see the painting he'd worked so hard on for her engulf in fire, her eyes wide, reflecting the roaring inferno that waxed and waxed. The heat of it was suffocating, the smoke stinging her eyes and seeping into her lungs as Akhenaten moved from the door to the outside world.
Frantic fingers clutched at her throat, searching in vain for the pendant that clashed terribly with her outfit. Gold and emerald was the choice of the evening, and the dazzling sapphire and silver... it was ignored. As Akhenaten left the villa and his now ex-lover behind, she collapsed to the floor, looking at the room as it erupted around her, the heat stinging at her arms, her legs, and the smoke seeping into her clothes and stinging her pores before she could bear it no longer.
My mother's pendant...
It burned just as everything else did, out of sight as the banshee's scream erupted from her lips. She threw herself out of the villa, collapsed onto the floor. Sand seeped into her dress, stinging at the bared skin but she paid no mind to it as tears fought against the smoke, a contest of which would sting her most in full sway as she...
When did...
It didn't matter.
How...
She would never know.
Why...
To spite her. To strike her just as he had before. The aching of her throat was long gone, but replaced instead by the crushing weight on her lungs as she screamed her lament into the void. Her face buried in her hands and pressed into the sand, the flames licked at the villa until it crumbled under its own weight.
Why didn't he...
He wanted to torture her, to watch their life together erupt and then... was he too much of a coward to end her himself? Or did he spare her only to send what remained of the Egyptian guard after her for the blasphemy he now knew to be fact. Anastasia made no effort to find out. Fingers clutching anew at her throat, she left the ruined villa behind, her mind clinging to the visage of her painted body distorting under the flames just as she ripped the emeralds from fabric, leaving holes in it that she had no intention of repairing.
Where should I go?
She had no idea. To inform Chione of this travesty would only put her in danger if Akhenaten didn't already send people after her. Rather than risk the woman's safety by sheltering her, Anastasia clutched those jewels in her hand as she crawled to her feet. Malachite ran in streaks along her face as a slow, specter's gait took her to the market. Selling the emeralds in her hand for far less than their worth, she cleaned herself of the streaks and left part of herself in that villa. She tore the fabric she wore aside, purchasing a simple white kalasiris to shelter her body in as she shambled towards the docks of Cairo, intent on leaving it behind for long enough to...
To what?
She didn't know, but she wasn't going to find out here.
As fingers cupped Anastasia's cheek, the Greek couldn't help but feel a tinge of apprehension. She pressed her lips into his kiss, but did not cradle her body against his, nor did insist on wrapping her arms around him. Had she known what he was planning, she might've lashed out against him then, just as their lips parted and she was kept in a lingering gaze with him. She awaited his words, or for him to move, for something to happen until...
He spoke.
Those chilling words burrowed into her very soul, the woman's treachery laid bare before her in the way that low danger reverberated past his lips. Anastasia had spent a great deal of time, carefully curating this living space until it seemed just as much a part of her as her lips or throat. She felt the smoke tinge against her eyes, just as his words truly sank into her.
He knows.
But, he'd worded his expectations carefully, had he not? He'd implied directly that he had every intention of sharing himself with other woman. Why was he explicitly given such a pleasure? Such freedom?
I never left Egypt... My heart...
Oh.
In her heart, she knew his anger to be justified as the glowing features of Chione H'Isazari flashed into her mind. Then, the man took a hold of her favoured shawl, which she'd intended to wear on their night together, and lit it on fire right in front of her. As he threw it, Ana looked back to see the painting he'd worked so hard on for her engulf in fire, her eyes wide, reflecting the roaring inferno that waxed and waxed. The heat of it was suffocating, the smoke stinging her eyes and seeping into her lungs as Akhenaten moved from the door to the outside world.
Frantic fingers clutched at her throat, searching in vain for the pendant that clashed terribly with her outfit. Gold and emerald was the choice of the evening, and the dazzling sapphire and silver... it was ignored. As Akhenaten left the villa and his now ex-lover behind, she collapsed to the floor, looking at the room as it erupted around her, the heat stinging at her arms, her legs, and the smoke seeping into her clothes and stinging her pores before she could bear it no longer.
My mother's pendant...
It burned just as everything else did, out of sight as the banshee's scream erupted from her lips. She threw herself out of the villa, collapsed onto the floor. Sand seeped into her dress, stinging at the bared skin but she paid no mind to it as tears fought against the smoke, a contest of which would sting her most in full sway as she...
When did...
It didn't matter.
How...
She would never know.
Why...
To spite her. To strike her just as he had before. The aching of her throat was long gone, but replaced instead by the crushing weight on her lungs as she screamed her lament into the void. Her face buried in her hands and pressed into the sand, the flames licked at the villa until it crumbled under its own weight.
Why didn't he...
He wanted to torture her, to watch their life together erupt and then... was he too much of a coward to end her himself? Or did he spare her only to send what remained of the Egyptian guard after her for the blasphemy he now knew to be fact. Anastasia made no effort to find out. Fingers clutching anew at her throat, she left the ruined villa behind, her mind clinging to the visage of her painted body distorting under the flames just as she ripped the emeralds from fabric, leaving holes in it that she had no intention of repairing.
Where should I go?
She had no idea. To inform Chione of this travesty would only put her in danger if Akhenaten didn't already send people after her. Rather than risk the woman's safety by sheltering her, Anastasia clutched those jewels in her hand as she crawled to her feet. Malachite ran in streaks along her face as a slow, specter's gait took her to the market. Selling the emeralds in her hand for far less than their worth, she cleaned herself of the streaks and left part of herself in that villa. She tore the fabric she wore aside, purchasing a simple white kalasiris to shelter her body in as she shambled towards the docks of Cairo, intent on leaving it behind for long enough to...
To what?
She didn't know, but she wasn't going to find out here.
