Dorian's Vision
Aug. 11th, 2013 08:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cordelisseAt least this time she had a chance to prepare herself for the side effect of the bite. It didn’t change much, but she wasn’t caught by surprise. Which was appreciated. Dorian’s fangs sank into her skin, and she shivered. She suspected that she would be feeling it this time. Marcus had taken blood not all that long ago, and Dorian had bitten her the night before. It was a decent amount of blood loss in a fairly short period of time. But she made the choice anyway, knowing the consequences. He wouldn’t have contacted her if it wasn’t necessary.
She would just have to rest for a day or two. Drink plenty of fluids.
She had only a brief moment to realise what was coming. NO. And then the vision was upon her. She wrenched herself away from him, not caring that his fangs tore out of her wrist in the process. She was scarcely aware of the blood and the pain. No, she was already lost in the images pouring through her head. Rapid flickers at first, as they built and grew more and more coherent.
Blinding pain. Sobs wracking his body. It’s a blood bond; a broken blood bond. Zoey recognizes the symptoms almost instinctively.
She cried out, writhing under the onslaught of both the images and the pain that wasn’t her own.
”Get the carriage ready. I’m ending this tonight,” Dorian says, sounding distant, disconnected as he places a borrowed cigarette between his lips.
No. Nonono.
“Why did you pick me?” he asks, as a woman – Phoebe, her name is Phoebe, it’s the name she’s using at the moment – draws patterns on his chest as they lay together in bed. Zoey is watching and experiencing all at once and there is nothing she can do to stop it. To stop herself from seeing a part of his past that she knows, suspects, he would rather keep to himself.
"You were so loving to your little wife when we first met, I never saw a man in the new world so openly loving to a woman who wasn't a whore or mistress. I wanted that."
Zoey gasped, fingers tangling in her hair as the vision wracked her body.
"You killed her, you slaughtered my children,” he says, the stable tone of voice he’d managed to maintain cracking. She can feel his sorrow and rage as if it were her own, and it takes her breath away.
"They were just holding you back. We can turn a child if you really want to be a father so much again. You were so cute with that little boy of yours... he tasted delicious." She’s baiting him, and Zoey feels a hand tangle in hair before it happens.
“No...” she bit out, groaning as tears of blood began welling in her eyes from the intensity of the vision.
Dorian flings her from the bed. “You bitch,” he hisses out, even as she laughs maniacally climbing to her feet. Uncaring of her nudity, she strolls towards him.
"And you’re my plaything, do not think you are not replaceable Dorian. I made you, I can destroy you." NO. Zoey knows what’s coming, and then he blade plunges into Phoebe’s chest.
Eyes wide, she keened in pain, back arching as her hands scrabbled uselessly at a wound she didn’t have. At a wound she felt as sharply as if it were her own. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.
"Where... where did you hide that!”
"It’s been under the pillow for ages," he replies, twisting the blade as she screams
Zoey screamed.
Phoebe tries to pull away, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t. Zoey knows she can’t. This is going to end badly. And she is going to experience every agonizing minute of it. Dorian drags the blade across Phoebe’s throat.
Her body convulsed with pain, and Zoey twisted, spitting up a mouthful of blood as more tears of blood coursed down her cheeks. She wanted to speak, to cry out, but she couldn’t. The vision still had her, and would not let her go until it was done.
The blade plunges into her again, and again, and again. Until Dorian finally drops it, letting it clatter to the ground. He pushes aside broken ribs, wrapping his hand around her heart and tearing it from her chest.
She curled into a ball, unable to speak, unable to breath, the taste of blood in her tongue. The agony was blinding, and she tangled hands in her hair again, as though she was trying to brace herself until the vision was finished.
He stares at the heart in his hand. “Burn in hell,” he hisses, squeezing his hand so tightly around it until it’s a ruined mass. Dropping it to the floor, he puts on his pants and walks barefoot, shirtless down a hallway. He knocks a lantern over as he passes it, and flames begin to lick at the floor. She can do nothing but watch in silence as Dorian gathers his things and walks out the front door, turning back only long enough to kick a table over, sending the oil lantern on its surface tumbling to the floor.
There is a horse drawn carriage waiting for him at the end of the path, and Maria – she is Maria and her companion is Matthew and they’re like Dorian. Like Diana.
"You did it?"
"She's dead."
Zoey collapsed bonelessly to the ground, drained and woozy. She was panting, drawing in desperate, heaving gasps of air. I’m so sorry, Dorian. I’m so sorry. She didn’t even notice that she was breathing those words aloud, barely audible.
She would just have to rest for a day or two. Drink plenty of fluids.
She had only a brief moment to realise what was coming. NO. And then the vision was upon her. She wrenched herself away from him, not caring that his fangs tore out of her wrist in the process. She was scarcely aware of the blood and the pain. No, she was already lost in the images pouring through her head. Rapid flickers at first, as they built and grew more and more coherent.
Blinding pain. Sobs wracking his body. It’s a blood bond; a broken blood bond. Zoey recognizes the symptoms almost instinctively.
She cried out, writhing under the onslaught of both the images and the pain that wasn’t her own.
”Get the carriage ready. I’m ending this tonight,” Dorian says, sounding distant, disconnected as he places a borrowed cigarette between his lips.
No. Nonono.
“Why did you pick me?” he asks, as a woman – Phoebe, her name is Phoebe, it’s the name she’s using at the moment – draws patterns on his chest as they lay together in bed. Zoey is watching and experiencing all at once and there is nothing she can do to stop it. To stop herself from seeing a part of his past that she knows, suspects, he would rather keep to himself.
"You were so loving to your little wife when we first met, I never saw a man in the new world so openly loving to a woman who wasn't a whore or mistress. I wanted that."
Zoey gasped, fingers tangling in her hair as the vision wracked her body.
"You killed her, you slaughtered my children,” he says, the stable tone of voice he’d managed to maintain cracking. She can feel his sorrow and rage as if it were her own, and it takes her breath away.
"They were just holding you back. We can turn a child if you really want to be a father so much again. You were so cute with that little boy of yours... he tasted delicious." She’s baiting him, and Zoey feels a hand tangle in hair before it happens.
“No...” she bit out, groaning as tears of blood began welling in her eyes from the intensity of the vision.
Dorian flings her from the bed. “You bitch,” he hisses out, even as she laughs maniacally climbing to her feet. Uncaring of her nudity, she strolls towards him.
"And you’re my plaything, do not think you are not replaceable Dorian. I made you, I can destroy you." NO. Zoey knows what’s coming, and then he blade plunges into Phoebe’s chest.
Eyes wide, she keened in pain, back arching as her hands scrabbled uselessly at a wound she didn’t have. At a wound she felt as sharply as if it were her own. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.
"Where... where did you hide that!”
"It’s been under the pillow for ages," he replies, twisting the blade as she screams
Zoey screamed.
Phoebe tries to pull away, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t. Zoey knows she can’t. This is going to end badly. And she is going to experience every agonizing minute of it. Dorian drags the blade across Phoebe’s throat.
Her body convulsed with pain, and Zoey twisted, spitting up a mouthful of blood as more tears of blood coursed down her cheeks. She wanted to speak, to cry out, but she couldn’t. The vision still had her, and would not let her go until it was done.
The blade plunges into her again, and again, and again. Until Dorian finally drops it, letting it clatter to the ground. He pushes aside broken ribs, wrapping his hand around her heart and tearing it from her chest.
She curled into a ball, unable to speak, unable to breath, the taste of blood in her tongue. The agony was blinding, and she tangled hands in her hair again, as though she was trying to brace herself until the vision was finished.
He stares at the heart in his hand. “Burn in hell,” he hisses, squeezing his hand so tightly around it until it’s a ruined mass. Dropping it to the floor, he puts on his pants and walks barefoot, shirtless down a hallway. He knocks a lantern over as he passes it, and flames begin to lick at the floor. She can do nothing but watch in silence as Dorian gathers his things and walks out the front door, turning back only long enough to kick a table over, sending the oil lantern on its surface tumbling to the floor.
There is a horse drawn carriage waiting for him at the end of the path, and Maria – she is Maria and her companion is Matthew and they’re like Dorian. Like Diana.
"You did it?"
"She's dead."
Zoey collapsed bonelessly to the ground, drained and woozy. She was panting, drawing in desperate, heaving gasps of air. I’m so sorry, Dorian. I’m so sorry. She didn’t even notice that she was breathing those words aloud, barely audible.