The Parisian Rose

I was a tool crafted of velvet and pearls. The curve of my smile was designed to be as lethal as a dagger in the dead of night. The turn of my head, the fall of lashes over painted eyes – these became my weapons. Ballrooms became my battlefield; suites became my war rooms. It was important to be useful. Those without use were never used, after all.

And oh, how I both loathed and loved to be used by him…

Words of direction became as necessary as a lover’s touch. There was no sweetness wrapped up in satin sheets between he and I. What existed between us was insidious, wound with an exacting hand through my mind and my senses until all I knew was the beauty he crafted me to be. I danced between the lines of masculinity and femininity to enact plays within his grand design.

This was love as I knew it. This was all I had ever known. Like any lover must, I desired more of his affection. But, was I ever anything besides a prized possession? If that is all which existed between us, was that not enough to take pride within? Others coveted such a position…

I am uncertain when infatuation turned bitter upon the edge of my tongue. I do not know when what I perceived as love shifted to hatred. A laugh which once rolled like liquid sugar down the curve of my spine set my teeth on edge. Everything became an obsession. Everything became animosity. The way he meticulously placed the patches at the edge of his mouth, the scent of powder upon his wigs, the sound of his dress coat as he brought it over his shoulders – these things maddened me.

We were immortal creatures pulling the strings of a mortal world. The blood of men was sweet upon our tongues and there was pleasure at our fingertips. A single caress and kings would kneel. A stolen kiss and nobles would whisper the secrets of war and intrigue against the shell of my ear. A gasp, a moan, a profession of false love – these things granted me power beyond anything eternity had ever offered me.

They say there is a time when the student must overcome his teacher. There were points in history where the greatest victory came when a son murdered his father. The nobles deemed me “The Parisian Rose”. It was an affectionate, whimsical title granted this strange youth with his pale skin and empty eyes. I suppose it was accurate enough an honor. I appeared soft. I was lovely to look upon. I was given as a gift to first one and then another, a token of feigned admiration. And it is true I did house thorns…

I still remember how the flames looked as they licked and blackened the stone around me. I still remember how he looked at my feet; the pattern of his blood as it pooled out upon the marble. The cruelest things are housed behind a veil of beauty. I still remember the taste of him upon my tongue in those last moments. I remember the aching, brilliant emptiness I felt as I watched the realization that his own weapon had turned against him illuminate his features.

“I love you…” I whispered it against his lips as the light died in his eyes. And in that moment, I believe I did. But, as all tales must end, so did ours.

“I am not your Ghost anymore…”

Facial Scars:

Branded Roses – CURELESS IW Currently available as part of Fifty Linden Friday, accessible at the main store location.

Mouth Dagger, Nose Piercing, and Necklaces:

Carley Set – Bauhaus Movement  IW This item is available at the current round of Shiny Shabby, open on April 20th. Teleport to event.

Hair:

Jezebel – EMO-tions IW / MP

 

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