Post by jourdainka on May 27, 2008 21:52:42 GMT -5
pause.
"And I suppose you've got a good reason for coming here?"
2 hours previously. . .
Anya was feeling a little blurry round the edges when she had stepped out into the warm, breezy, comfortable summer night. Tonight she is wearing her favorite dress--the Marc by Marc Jacobs--pale pink, floaty material, dancing around her slender legs.
She chose to go barefoot, an obvious risk. . .for a human.
It didn't matter anyhow, people never looked at her feet. They looked everywhere else, but never at her feet.
Walking with a graceful step, she pauses only to elegantly tap the end of her lit Parliament, sending the ashes floating into the twilight.
I wonder if he'll come. . . she thinks to herself.
She is wondering, of course, about her soul mate. She doesn't know his name, or his appearance, or his age. She just knows that he exists. Her companion.
You see, Anastasiya has been searching for nearly two hundred years to find that person, whether he is human, vampire or otherwise. She yearns for her other half. She tries in vain to squelch this feeling---yearning makes her thirsty.
She thinks about Volodya, her creator, thinks about how much she loved him. But he didn't want her for that purpose, and so she had to leave. He was so beautiful, the way his eyes caught the light of the crude candles of Medieval Russia, the way his skin could be compared to marble, the curve of his impossibly perfect lips. . .
But she had to concentrate. If she focused all her energies on finding her mate rather than reminiscing and mooning over the past, perhaps she would have found him by now.
As she takes her ballet strides down the sidewalk, one could almost just make out her destination. The Eden; a gated garden, where the flowers are allowed to grow wild and climb and go unpruned. Anastasiya favours the Eden; she adores the scent, the visual stimulation, and the. . .menu. . .
"And I suppose you've got a good reason for coming here?"
2 hours previously. . .
Anya was feeling a little blurry round the edges when she had stepped out into the warm, breezy, comfortable summer night. Tonight she is wearing her favorite dress--the Marc by Marc Jacobs--pale pink, floaty material, dancing around her slender legs.
She chose to go barefoot, an obvious risk. . .for a human.
It didn't matter anyhow, people never looked at her feet. They looked everywhere else, but never at her feet.
Walking with a graceful step, she pauses only to elegantly tap the end of her lit Parliament, sending the ashes floating into the twilight.
I wonder if he'll come. . . she thinks to herself.
She is wondering, of course, about her soul mate. She doesn't know his name, or his appearance, or his age. She just knows that he exists. Her companion.
You see, Anastasiya has been searching for nearly two hundred years to find that person, whether he is human, vampire or otherwise. She yearns for her other half. She tries in vain to squelch this feeling---yearning makes her thirsty.
She thinks about Volodya, her creator, thinks about how much she loved him. But he didn't want her for that purpose, and so she had to leave. He was so beautiful, the way his eyes caught the light of the crude candles of Medieval Russia, the way his skin could be compared to marble, the curve of his impossibly perfect lips. . .
But she had to concentrate. If she focused all her energies on finding her mate rather than reminiscing and mooning over the past, perhaps she would have found him by now.
As she takes her ballet strides down the sidewalk, one could almost just make out her destination. The Eden; a gated garden, where the flowers are allowed to grow wild and climb and go unpruned. Anastasiya favours the Eden; she adores the scent, the visual stimulation, and the. . .menu. . .